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THE  WRITINGS  OF  THOMAS  HARDY 
IN  PROSE  AND  VERSE 

WITH  PREFACES  AND  NOTES 
IN  TWENTY-ONE  VOLUMES 


PROSE 
VOL.  IX 


THE  WESSEX  NOVELS 

I.— NOVELS  OF  CHARACTER  AND  ENVIRONMENT 


WESSEX  TALES 


171 


ESSEX  TALES 


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HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW   YORK  AND  LONDON 


THE     HANGMAN'S     COTTAGE,     CASTER- 
BRIDGE 

(The  Hangman's  Cottage,   Dorchester) 

The  Hangman's  Cottage  is  a  small  thatched 
cottage  standing  by  the  river  Froom,  Dorchester. 
The  cottage  is  still  extant,  and  was  formerly 
the  official  residence  of  the  Dorchester  hangman. 


WESSEX  TALES 


THAT   IS   TO    SAY 

THE  THREE  STRANGERS  .  A  TRADITION  OF 
EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  FOUR  .  THE  MELAN- 
CHOLY HUSSAR  .  THE  WITHERED  ARM 
FELLOW-TOWNSMEN  .  INTERLOPERS 
AT  THE  KNAP  .  THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 


BY 

THOMAS    HARDY 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


PREFACE 

AN  apology  Is  perhaps  needed  for  the  neglect  of 
contrast  which  is  shown  by  presenting  two  stories  of 
hangmen  and  one  of  a  military  execution  in  such  a 
small  collection  as  the  following.  But  as  to  the 
former,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  county-towns  hang- 
ing matters  used  to  form  a  large  proportion  of  the 
local  tradition  ;  and  though  never  personally  acquainted 
with  any  chief  operator  at  such  scenes,  the  writer  of 
these  pages  had  as  a  boy  the  privilege  of  being 
on  speaking  terms  with  a  man  who  applied  for  the 
office,  and  who  sank  into  an  incurable  melancholy 
because  he  failed  to  get  it,  some  slight  mitigation  of 
his  grief  being  to  dwell  upon  striking  episodes  in  the 
lives  of  those  happier  ones  who  had  held  it  with 
success  and  renown.  His  tale  of  disappointment  used 
to  cause  his  listener  some  wonder  why  his  ambition 
should  have  taken  such  an  unfortunate  form,  by  limit- 
ing itself  to  a  profession  of  which  there  could  be  only 
one  practitioner  in  England  at  one  time,  when  it  might 
have  aimed  at  something  that  would  have  afforded 
him  more  chances — such  as  the  office  of  a  judge,  a 
bishop,  or  even  a  member  of  Parliament — but  its 

vii 


WESSEX  TALES 

nobleness  was  never  questioned.  In  those  days,  too, 
there  was  still  living  an  old  woman  who,  for  the 
cure  of  some  eating  disease,  had  been  taken  in  her 
youth  to  have  her  'blood  turned'  by  a  convict's 
corpse,  in  the  manner  described  in  'The  Withered 
Arm.' 

Since  writing  this  story  some  years  ago  I  have 
been  reminded  by  an  aged  friend  who  knew  '  Rhoda 
Brook'  that,  in  relating  her  dream,  my  forgetfulness 
has  weakened  the  facts  out  of  which  the  tale  grew. 
In  reality  it  was  while  lying  down  on  a  hot  afternoon 
that  the  incubus  oppressed  her  and  she  flung  it  off, 
with  the  results  upon  the  body  of  the  original  as 
described.  To  my  mind  the  occurrence  of  such  a 
vision  in  the  daytime  is  more  impressive  than  if  it  had 
happened  in  a  midnight  dream.  Readers  are  therefore 
asked  to  correct  the  misrelation,  which  affords  an 
instance  of  how  our  imperfect  memories  insensibly 
formalize  the  fresh  originality  of  living  fact — from 
whose  shape  they  slowly  depart,  as  machine-made 
castings  depart  by  degrees  from  the  sharp  hand-work 
of  the  mould. 

Among  the  many  devices  for  concealing  smuggled 
goods  in  caves  and  pits  of  the  earth,  that  of  planting 
an  apple-tree  in  a  tray  or  box  which  was  placed  over 
the  mouth  of  the  pit  is,  I  believe,  unique,  and  it  is 
detailed  in  'The  Distracted  Preacher'  precisely  as 
described  by  an  old  carrier  of  '  tubs ' — a  man  who  was 
afterwards  in  my  father's  employ  for  over  thirty  years. 
I  never  gathered  from  his  reminiscences  what  means 
were  adopted  for  lifting  the  tree,  which,  with  its  roots, 

viii 


PREFACE 

earth,  and  receptacle,  must  have  been  of  considerable 
weight.  There  is  no  doubt,  however,  that  the  thing 
was  done  through  many  years.  My  informant  often 
spoke,  too,  of  the  horribly  suffocating  sensation  pro- 
duced by  the  pair  of  spirit-tubs  slung  upon  the  chest 
and  back,  after  stumbling  with  the  burden  of  them  for 
several  miles  inland  over  a  rough  country  and  in 
darkness.  He  said  that  though  years  of  his  youth 
and  young  manhood  were  spent  in  this  irregular 
business,  his  profits  from  the  same,  taken  all  together, 
did  not  average  the  wages  he  might  have  earned  in  a 
steady  employment,  whilst  the  fatigues  and  risks  were 
excessive. 

I  may  add  that  the  action  of  this  story  is  founded 
on  certain  smuggling  exploits  that  occurred  between 
1825  and  1830,  and  were  brought  to  a  close  in  the 
latter  year  by  the  trial  of  the  chief  actors  at  the  Assizes 
before  Baron  Bolland  for  their  desperate  armed  re- 
sistance to  the  Custom-house  officers  during  the  land- 
ing of  a  cargo  of  spirits.  This  happened  only  a  little 
time  after  the  doings  recorded  in  the  narrative,  in 
which  some  incidents  that  came  out  at  the  trial  are 
also  embodied. 

In  the  culminating  affray  the  character  called 
Owlett  was  badly  wounded,  and  several  of  the  Pre- 
ventive-men would  have  lost  their  lives  through  being 
overpowered  by  the  far  more  numerous  body  of 
smugglers,  but  for  the  forbearance  and  manly  conduct 
of  the  latter.  This  served  them  in  good  stead  at  their 
trial,  in  which  the  younger  Erskine  prosecuted,  their 
defence  being  entrusted  to  Erie.  Baron  Bolland's 

ix 


WESSEX  TALES 

summing  up  was  strongly  in  their  favour ;  they  were 
merely  ordered  to  enter  into  their  own  recognizances 
for  good  behaviour  and  discharged.  (See  also  as  to 
facts  the  note  at  the  end  of  the  tale.) 

However,  the  stories  are  but  dreams,  and  not 
records.  They  were  first  collected  and  published 
under  their  present  title,  in  two  volumes,  in  1888. 

T.  H. 

April  1896 — May 


CONTENTS 

PACE 

THE  THREE  STRANGERS •        3 

A  TRADITION  OF  EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  FOUR        •        •      33 
THE  MELANCHOLY  HUSSAR  .        .     '•'  i  •     .        .        .        »      45 

THE  WITHERED  ARM    .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .      67 

A  LORN  MILKMAID        .        ...        .        .        .69 

THE  YOUNG  WIFE         „        »        .        .        .        .        .       72 

A  VISION       .        .        ...        .        .        .        -77 

A  SUGGESTION       .'....  ...      82 

CONJUROR  TRENDLE     ,        .        .        .     ,  .        .        .      87 

A  SECOND  ATTEMPT      . 91 

A  RIDE.        ;-'•     .        i  "     .        .        .        .        .        .      95 

A  WATER-SIDE  HERMIT 101 

A  RENCOUNTER 105 

FELLOW-TOWNSMEN in 

INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP.        ,        .        .        .        .        .177 

THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 215 

How  HIS  COLD  WAS  CURED 217 

HOW  HE  SAW  TWO  OTHER  MEN 23! 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  GREATCOAT  .  .  .  .  .235 
AT  THE  TIME  OF  THE  NEW  MOON  ....  244 
HOW  THEY  WENT  TO  LULWIND  COVE  .  .  .  .253 
THE  GREAT  SEARCH  AT  NETHER-MOYNTON  .  .  .  263 
THE  WALK  TO  WARM'ELL  CROSS,  AND  AFTERWARDS  .  273 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

THE  HANGMAN'S  COTTAGE,  CASTERBRIDGE     ....       Frontispiece 

The  Hangman's  Collage  is  a  small  thatched  cot- 
tage standing  by  the  river  Froom,  Dorchester. 
The  cottage  is  still  extant,  and  was  formerly  the 
official  residence  of  the  Dorchester  hangman. 
BINCOMBE  VILLAGE Facing  p.   48 

Bincombe  Village,  near  Weymouth,  is  where 
Phyllis  Grove  is  supposed  to  have  lived. 

Bincombe  Down,  upon  which  the  York  Hus- 
sars with  other  regiments  had  come  to  encamp, 
was  visible  from  Phyllis'  window,  and  over- 
looked one  of  the  most  extensive  panoramas  in 
the  whole  of  the  Wessex  Country — 'command- 
ing the  Isle  of  Portland  in  front,  and  reaching  to 
St.  Aldhelm's  Head  eastward,  and  almost  to  the 
Start  on  the  west.' 
KING'S  HINTOCK Facing  p.  184 

King's  Hintock  is  approximately  Melbury  Os- 
mund, a  village  near  Evershot.  The  'old  house 
with  mullioned  windows  of  Hamhill  stone,  and 
chimneys  of  lavish  solidity,'  is  still  remembered, 
but  has  been  demolished. 
NETHER-MOYNTON  VILLAGE Facing  p.  220 

Nether-Moynton,  the  name  used  for  the  little 
village  of  Owermoigne,  lying  just  off  the  road  from 
Weymouth  or  Dorchester  to  Wareham,  is  the 
background  for  the  story,  'The  Distracted 
Preacher.'  The  village  is  only  a  few  miles  from 
the  coast,  and  was  formerly  the  home  of  many 
a  smuggler.  The  house  which  stands  almost  op- 
posite to  the  rectory  was  used  as  the  model  for 
the  house  in  which  Lizzie  Newbury  was  sup- 
posed to  have  lived. 


WESSEX   TALES 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS 

AMONG  the  few  features  of  agricultural  England  which 
retain  an  appearance  but  little  modified  by  the  lapse 
of  centuries,  may  be  reckoned  the  long,  grassy  and 
furzy  downs,  coombs,  or  ewe-leases,  as  they  are  called 
according  to  their  kind,  that  fill  a  large  area  of  certain 
counties  in  the  south  and  south-west.  If  any  mark 
of  human  occupation  is  met  with  hereon,  it  usually 
takes  the  form  of  the  solitary  cottage  of  some 
shepherd. 

Fifty  years  ago  such  a  lonely  cottage  stood  on 
such  a  down,  and  may  possibly  be  standing  there  now. 
In  spite  of  its  loneliness,  however,  the  spot,  by  actual 
measurement,  was  not  three  miles  from  a  county-town. 
Yet  that  affected  it  little.  Three  miles  of  irregular 
upland,  during  the  long  inimical  seasons,  with  their 
sleets,  snows,  rains,  and  mists,  afford  withdrawing 
space  enough  to  isolate  a  Timon  or  a  Nebuchadnezzar ; 
much  less,  in  fair  weather,  to  please  that  less  repellent 
tribe,  the  poets,  philosophers,  artists,  and  others  who 
'  conceive  and  meditate  of  pleasant  things.' 

Some  old  earthen  camp  or  barrow,  some  clump  of 
trees,  at  least  some  starved  fragment  of  ancient  hedge 
is  usually  taken  advantage  of  in  the  erection  of  these 
forlorn  dwellings.  But,  in  the  present  case,  such  a 
kind  of  shelter  had  been  disregarded.  Higher  Crow- 
stairs,  as  the  house  was  called,  stood  quite  detached 
and  undefended.  The  only  reason  for  its  precise 
situation  seemed  to  be  the  crossing  of  two  footpaths 
at  right  angles  hard  by,  which  may  have  crossed  there 

3 


WESSEX  TALES 

and  thus  for  a  good  five  hundred  years.  Hence  the 
house  was  exposed  to  the  elements  on  all  sides.  But, 
though  the  wind  up  here  blew  unmistakably  when  it 
did  blow,  and  the  rain  hit  hard  whenever  it  fell,  the 
various  weathers  of  the  winter  season  were  not  quite 
so  formidable  on  the  down  as  they  were  imagined  to 
be  by  dwellers  on  low  ground.  The  raw  rimes  were 
not  so  pernicious  as  in  the  hollows,  and  the  frosts  were 
scarcely  so  severe.  When  the  shepherd  and  his 
family  who  tenanted  the  house  were  pitied  for  their 
sufferings  from  the  exposure,  they  said  that  upon  the 
whole  they  were  less  inconvenienced  by  '  wuzzes  and 
flames '  (hoarses  and  phlegms)  than  when  they  had 
lived  by  the  stream  of  a  snug  neighbouring  valley. 

The  night  of  March  28,  182-,  was  precisely  one  of 
the  nights  that  were  wont  to  call  forth  these  expres- 
sions of  commiseration.  The  level  rainstorm  smote 
walls,  slopes,  and  hedges  like  the  clothyard  shafts  of 
Senlac  and  Crecy.  Such  sheep  and  outdoor  animals 
as  had  no  shelter  stood  with  their  buttocks  to  the 
winds ;  while  the  tails  of  little  birds  trying  to  roost 
on  some  scraggy  thorn  were  blown  inside-out  like 
umbrellas.  The  gable-end  of  the  cottage  was  stained 
with  wet,  and  the  eavesdroppings  flapped  against  the 
wall.  Yet  never  was  commiseration  for  the  shepherd 
more  misplaced.  For  that  cheerful  rustic  was  enter- 
taining a  large  party  in  glorification  of  the  christening 
of  his  second  girl. 

The  guests  had  arrived  before  the  rain  began  to 
fall,  and  they  were  all  now  assembled  in  the  chief  or 
living  room  of  the  dwelling.  A  glance  into  the  apart- 
ment at  eight  o'clock  on  this  eventful  evening  would 
have  resulted  in  the  opinion  that  it  was  as  cosy  and 
comfortable  a  nook  as  could  be  wished  for  in  boisterous 
weather.  The  calling  of  its  inhabitant  was  proclaimed 
by  a  number  of  highly-polished  sheep-crooks  without 
stems  that  were  hung  ornamentally  over  the  fireplace, 
the  curl  of  each  shining  crook  varying  from  the  anti- 
quated type  engraved  in  the  patriarchal  pictures  of 

4 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS 

old  family  Bibles  to  the  most  approved  fashion  of  the 
last  local  sheep-fair.  The  room  was  lighted  by  half- 
a-dozen  candles,  having  wicks  only  a  trifle  smaller 
than  the  grease  which  enveloped  them,  in  candlesticks 
that  were  never  used  but  at  high-days,  holy-days,  and 
family  feasts.  The  lights  were  scattered  about  the 
room,  two  of  them  standing  on  the  chimney-piece. 
This  position  of  candles  was  in  itself  significant. 
Candles  on  the  chimney-piece  always  meant  a  party. 
On  the  hearth,  in  front  of  a  back-brand  to  give 

P  substance,  blazed  a  fire  of  thorns,  that  crackled  '  like 
the  laughter  of  the  fool.' 

Nineteen  persons  were  gathered  here.  Of  these, 
five  women,  wearing  gowns  of  various  bright  hues, 
sat  in  chairs  along  the  wall ;  girls  shy  and  not  shy 
filled  the  window-bench ;  four  men,  including  Charley 
Jake  the  hedge-carpenter,  Elijah  New  the  parish- 
clerk,  and  John  Pitcher,  a  neighbouring  dairyman, 
the  shepherd's  father-in-law,  lolled  in  the  settle ;  a 
young  man  and  maid,  who  were  blushing  over  tenta- 
tive pourparlers  on  a  life-companionship,  sat  beneath 
the  corner-cupboard  ;  and  an  elderly  engaged  ma)r-of 
fifty  or  upward  moved  restlessly  about  from~>spots 
where  his  betrothed  was  not  to  the  spot  where  she 
was.  Enjoyment  was  pretty  general,  and  so  much 
the  more  prevailed  in  being  unhampered  by  con- 
ventional restrictions.  Absolute  confidence  in  each 
other's  good  opinion  begat  perfect  ease,  while  the 
finishing  stroke  of  manner,  amounting  to  a  truly 
princely  serenity,  was  lent  to  the  majority  by  the 
absence  of  any  expression  or  trait  denoting  that  they 
wished  to  get  on  in  the  world,  enlarge  their  minds,  or 
do  any  eclipsing  thing  whatever — which  nowadays  so 
generally  nips  the  bloom  and  bonhomie  of  all  except 
the  two  extremes  of  the  social  scale. 

Shepherd  Fennel  had  married  well,  his  wife  being 
a  dairyman's  daughter  from  a  vale  at  a  distance,  who 
brought  fifty  guineas  in  her  pocket — and  kept  them 
there,  till  they  should  be  required  for  ministering  to 

5 


WESSEX  TALES 

the  needs  of  a  coming  family.  This  frugal  woman 
had  been  somewhat  exercised  as  to  the  character  that 
should  be  given  to  the  gathering.  A  sit-still  party 
had  its  advantages ;  but  an  undisturbed  position  of 
ease  in  chairs  and  settles  was  apt  to  lead  on  the  men 
to  such  an  unconscionable  deal  of  toping  that  they 
would  sometimes  fairly  drink  the  house  dry.  A 
dancing- party  was  the  alternative;  but  this,  while 
avoiding  the  foregoing  objection  on  the  score  of  good 
drink,  had  a  counterbalancing  disadvantage  in  the 
matter  of  good  victuals,  the  ravenous  appetites  en- 
gendered by  the  exercise  causing  immense  havoc  in 
the  buttery.  Shepherdess  Fennel  fell  back  upon  the 
intermediate  plan  of  mingling  short  dances  with  short 
periods  of  talk  and  singing,  so  as  to  hinder  any  un- 
governable rage  in  either.  But  this  scheme  was 
entirely  confined  to  her  own  gentle  mind :  the 
shepherd  himself  was  in  the  mood  to  exhibit  the 
most  reckless  phases  of  hospitality. 

The  fiddler  was  a  boy  of  those  parts,  about  twelve 
years  of  age,  who  had  a  wonderful  dexterity  in  jigs 
and  reels,  though  his  fingers  were  so  small  and  short  as 
to  necessitate  a  constant  shifting  for  the  high  notes, 
from  which  he  scrambled  back  to  the  first  position 
with  sounds  not  of  unmixed  purity  of  tone.  At  seven 
the  shrill  tweedle-dee  of  this  youngster  had  begun, 
accompanied  by  a  booming  ground-bass  from  Elijah 
New,  the  parish-clerk,  who  had  thoughtfully  brought 
with  him  his  favourite  musical  instrument,  the  serpent. 
Dancing  was  instantaneous,  Mrs.  Fennel  privately 
enjoining  the  players  on  no  account  to  let  the  dance 
exceed  the  length  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

But  Elijah  and  the  boy  in  the  excitement  of  their 
position  quite  forgot  the  injunction.  Moreover,  Oliver 
Giles,  a  man  of  seventeen,  one  of  the  dancers,  who 
was  enamoured  of  his  partner,  a  fair  girl  of  thirty-three 
rolling  years,  had  recklessly  handed  a  new  crown- 
piece  to  the  musicians,  as  a  bribe  to  keep  going  as 
long  as  they  had  muscle  and  wind.  Mrs.  Fennel, 

6 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS 

seeing  the  steam  begin  to  generate  on  the  counten- 
ances of  her  guests,  crossed  over  and  touched  the 
fiddler's  elbow  and  put  her  hand  on  the  serpent's 
mouth.  But  they  took  no  notice,  and  fearing  she 
might  lose  her  character  of  genial  hostess  if  she  were 
to  interfere  too  markedly,  she  retired  and  sat  down 
helpless.  And  so  the  dance  whizzed  on  with  cumula- 
tive fury,  the  performers  moving  in  their  planet-like 
courses,  direct  and  retrograde,  from  apogee  to  peri- 
gee, till  the  hand  of  the  well -kicked  clock  at  the 
bottom  of  the  room  had  travelled  over  the  circumfer- 
ence of  an  hour. 

While  these  cheerful  events  were  in  course  of 
enactment  within  Fennel's  pastoral  dwelling  an  in- 
cident having  considerable  bearing  on  the  party  had 
occurred  in  the  gloomy  night  without.  Mrs.  Fennel's 
concern  about  the  growing  fierceness  of  the  dance 
corresponded  in  point  of  time  with  the  ascent  of  a 
human  figure  to  the  solitary  hill  of  Higher  Crowstairs 
from  the  direction  of  the  distant  town.  This  person- 
age strode  on  through  the  rain  without  a  pause, 
following  the  little-worn  path  which,  further  on  in  its 
course,  skirted  the  shepherd's  cottage. 

It  was  nearly  the  time  of  full  moon,  and  on  this 
account,  though  the  sky  was  lined  with  a  uniform 
sheet  of  dripping  cloud,  ordinary  objects  out  of  doors 
were  readily  visible.  The  sad  wan  light  revealed  the 
lonely  pedestrian  to  be  a  man  of  supple  frame ;  his 
gait  suggested  that  he  had  somewhat  passed  the 
period  of  perfect  and  instinctive  agility,  though  not  so 
far  as  to  be  otherwise  than  rapid  of  motion  when 
occasion  required.  At  a  rough  guess,  he  might  have 
been  about  forty  years  of  age.  He  appeared  tall,  but 
a  recruiting  sergeant,  or  other  person  accustomed  to 
the  judging  of  men's  heights  by  the  eye,  would  have 
discerned  that  this  was  chiefly  owing  to  his  gauntness, 
and  that  he  was  not  more  than  five-feet-eight  or  nine. 

Notwithstanding  the  regularity  of  his  tread  there 
was  caution  in  it,  as  in  that  of  one  who  mentally  feels 

7 


WESSEX  TALES 

his  way ;  and  despite  the  fact  that  it  was  not  a  black 
coat  nor  a  dark  garment  of  any  sort  that  he  wore, 
there  was  something  about  him  which  suggested  that 
he  naturally  belonged  to  the  black-coated  tribes  of 
men.  His  clothes  were  of  fustian,  and  his  boots 
hobnailed,  yet  in  his  progress  he  showed  not  the 
mud-accustomed  bearing  of  hobnailed  and  fustianed 
peasantry. 

By  the  time  that  he  had  arrived  abreast  of  the 
shepherd's  premises  the  rain  came  down,  or  rather 
came  along,  with  yet  more  determined  violence.  The 
outskirts  of  the  little  settlement  partially  broke  the 
force  of  wind  and  rain,  and  this  induced  him  to  stand 
still.  The  most  salient  of  the  shepherd's  domestic 
erections  was  an  empty  sty  at  the  forward  corner  of 
his  hedgeless  garden,  for  in  these  latitudes  the  principle 
of  masking  the  homelier  features  of  your  establish- 
ment by  a  conventional  frontage  was  unknown.  The 
traveller's  eye  was  attracted  to  this  small  building  by 
the  pallid  shine  of  the  wet  slates  that  covered  it.  He 
turned  aside,  and,  finding  it  empty,  stood  under  the 
pent-roof  for  shelter. 

While  he  stood  the  boom  of  the  serpent  within 
the  adjacent  house,  and  the  lesser  strains  of  the 
fiddler,  reached  the  spot  as  an  accompaniment  to  the 
surging  hiss  of  the  flying  rain  on  the  sod,  its  louder 
beating  on  the  cabbage-leaves  of  the  garden,  on  the 
straw  hackles  of  eight  or  ten  beehives  just  discernible 
by  the  path,  and  its  dripping  from  the  eaves  into  a 
row  of  buckets  and  pans  that  had  been  placed  under 
the  walls  of  the  cottage.  For  at  Higher  Crowstairs, 
as  at  all  such  elevated  domiciles,  the  grand  difficulty 
of  housekeeping  was  an  insufficiency  of  water ;  and  a 
casual  rainfall  was  utilized  by  turning  out,  as  catchers, 
every  utensil  that  the  house  contained.  Some  queer 
stories  might  be  told  of  the  contrivances  for  economy 
in  suds  and  dish-waters  that  are  absolutely  necessi- 
tated in  upland  habitations  during  the  droughts  of 
summer.  But  at  this  season  there  were  no  such 

8 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS 

exigencies ;    a   mere  acceptance  of    what   the    skies 
bestowed  was  sufficient  for  an  abundant  store. 

At  last  the  notes  of  the  serpent  ceased  and  the 
house  was  silent.  This  cessation  of  activity  aroused 
the  solitary  pedestrian  from  the  reverie  into  which  he 
had  lapsed,  and,  emerging  from  the  shed,  with  an 
apparently  new  intention,  he  walked  up  the  path  to 
the  house-door.  Arrived  here,  his  first  act  was  to 
kneel  down  on  a  large  stone  beside  the  row  of  vessels, 
and  to  drink  a  copious  draught  from  one  of  them. 
Having  quenched  his  thirst  he  rose  and  lifted  his 
hand  to  knock,  but  paused  with  his  eye  upon  the 
panel.  Since  the  dark  surface  of  the  wood  revealed 
absolutely  nothing,  it  was  evident  that  he  must  be 
mentally  looking  through  the  door,  as  if  he  wished  to 
measure  thereby  all  the  possibilities  that  a  house  of 
this  sort  might  include,  and  how  they  might  bear 
upon  the  question  of  his  entry. 

In  his  indecision  he  turned  and  surveyed  the 
scene  around.  Not  a  soul  was  anywhere  visible. 
The  garden-path  stretched  downward  from  his  feet, 
gleaming  like  the  track  of  a  snail ;  the  roof  of  the 
little  well  (mostly  dry),  the  well-cover,  the  top  rail  of 
the  garden-gate,  were  varnished  with  the  same  dull 
liquid  glaze ;  while,  far  away  in  the  vale,  a  faint  white- 
ness of  more  than  usual  extent  showed  that  the 
rivers  were  high  in  the  meads.  Beyond  all  this 
winked  a  few  bleared  lamplights  through  the  beating 
drops — lights  that  denoted  the  situation  of  the  county- 
town  from  which  he  had  appeared  to  come.  The 
absence  of  all  notes  of  life  in  that  direction  seemed  to 
clinch  his  intentions,  and  he  knocked  at  the  door. 

Within,  a  desultory  chat  had  taken  the  place  of 
movement  and  musical  sound.  The  hedge-carpenter 
was  suggesting  a  song  to  the  company,  which  nobody 
just  then  was  inclined  to  undertake,  so  that  the  knock 
afforded  a  not  unwelcome  diversion. 

'  Walk  in  ! '  said  the  shepherd  promptly. 

The  latch  clicked  upward,  and  out  of  the  night  our 

9 


WESSEX  TALES 

pedestrian  appeared  upon  the  door-mat.  The  shepherd 
arose,  snuffed  two  of  the  nearest  candles,  and  turned 
to  look  at  him. 

Their  light  disclosed  that  the  stranger  was  dark  in 
complexion  and  not  unprepossessing  as  to  feature. 
His  hat,  which  for  a  moment  he  did  not  remove,  hung 
low  over  his  eyes,  without  concealing  that  they  were 
large,  open,  and  determined,  moving  with  a  flash  rather 
than  a  glance  round  the  room.  He  seemed  pleased 
with  his  survey,  and,  baring  his  shaggy  head,  said,  in 
a  rich  deep  voice,  '  The  rain  is  so  heavy,  friends,  that 
I  ask  leave  to  come  in  and  rest  awhile.' 

'  To  be  sure,  stranger/  said  the  shepherd.  '  And 
faith,  you've  been  lucky  in  choosing  your  time,  for  we 
are  having  a  bit  of  a  fling  for  a  glad  cause — though, 
to  be  sure,  a  man  could  hardly  wish  that  glad  cause 
to  happen  more  than  once  a  year.' 

'  Nor  less,'  spoke  up  a  woman.  '  For  'tis  best 
to  get  your  family  over  and  done  with,  as  soon 
as  you  can,  so  as  to  be  all  the  earlier  out  of  the 
fag  o't.' 

'  And  what  may  be  this  glad  cause  ? '  asked  the 
stranger. 

4  A  birth  and  christening,'  said  the  shepherd. 

The  stranger  hoped  his  host  might  not  be  made 
unhappy  either  by  too  many  or  too  few  of  such 
episodes,  and  being  invited  by  a  gesture  to  a  pull  at 
the  mug,  he  readily  acquiesced.  His  manner,  which, 
before  entering,  had  been  so  dubious,  was  now  alto- 
gether that  of  a  careless  and  candid  man. 

'  Late  to  be  traipsing  athwart  this  coomb — hey  ? ' 
said  the  engaged  man  of  fifty. 

1  Late  it  is,  master,  as  you  say. — I'll  take  a  seat  in 
the  chimney-corner,  if  you  have  nothing  to  urge 
against  it,  ma'am  ;  for  I  am  a  little  moist  on  the  side 
that  was  next  the  rain.' 

Mrs.  Shepherd  Fennel  assented,  and  made  room 
for  the  self-invited  comer,  who,  having  got  completely 
inside  the  chimney-corner,  stretched  out  his  legs  and 

10 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS 

his  arms  with  the  expansiveness  of  a  person  quite  at 
home. 

'  Yes,  I  am  rather  cracked  in  the  vamp,'  he  said 
freely,  seeing  that  the  eyes  of  the  shepherd's  wife  fell 
upon  his  boots,  '  and  I  am  not  well  fitted  either.  I 
have  had  some  rough  times  lately,  and  have  been 
forced  to  pick  up  what  I  can  get  in  the  way  of  wear- 
ing, but  I  must  find  a  suit  better  fit  for  working-days 
when  I  reach  home.' 

'  One  of  hereabouts  ?  '  she  inquired. 

1  Not  quite  that — further  up  the  country.' 

4 1  thought  so.  And  so  be  I ;  and  by  your  tongue 
you  come  from  my  neighbourhood.' 

'  But  you  would  hardly  have  heard  of  me,'  he  said 
quickly.  '  My  time  would  be  long  before  yours, 
ma'am,  you  see.' 

This  testimony  to  the  youthfulness  of  his  hostess 
had  the  effect  of  stopping  her  cross-examination. 

1  There  is  only  one  thing  more  wanted  to  make  me 
happy,'  continued  the  new-comer.  *  And  that  is  a 
little  baccy,  which  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  am  out  of.' 

4  I'll  fill  your  pipe,'  said  the  shepherd. 

4 1  must  ask  you  to  lend  me  a  pipe  likewise/ 

*  A  smoker,  and  no  pipe  about  'ee  ?  ' 

4 1  have  dropped  it  somewhere  on  the  road.' 

The  shepherd  filled  and  handed  him  a  new  clay 
pipe,  saying,  as  he  did  so,  4  Hand  me  your  baccy-box 
— I'll  fill  that  too,  now  I  am  about  it.' 

The  man  went  through  the  movement  of  search- 
ing his  pockets. 

4  Lost  that  too  ? '  said  his  entertainer,  with  some 
surprise. 

4 1  am  afraid  so,'  said  the  man  with  some  confusion. 
4  Give  it  to  me  in  a  screw  of  paper.'  Lighting  his 
pipe  at  the  candle  with  a  suction  that  drew  the  whole 
flame  into  the  bowl,  he  resettled  himself  in  the  corner 
and  bent  his  looks  upon  the  faint  steam  from  his 
damp  legs,  as  if  he  wished  to  say  no  more. 

Meanwhile  the  general  body  of  guests  had  been 

ii 


WESSEX  TALES 

taking  little  notice  of  this  vir;tor  by  reason  of  an 
absorbing  discussion  in  which  they  were  engaged 
with  the  band  about  a  tune  for  the  next  dance.  The 
matter  being  settled,  they  were  about  to  stand  up 
when  an  interruption  came  in  the  shape  of  another 
knock  at  the  door. 

At  sound  of  the  same  the  man  in  the  chimney- 
corner  took  up  the  poker  and  began  stirring  the 
brands  as  if  doing  it  thoroughly  were  the  one  aim  of 
his  existence  ;  and  a  second  time  the  shepherd  said, 
4  Walk  in  ! '  In  a  moment  another  man  stood  upon  the 
straw- woven  door-mat.  He  too  was  a  stranger. 

This  individual  was  one  of  a  type  radically  different 
from  the  first.  There  was  more  of  the  commonplace 
in  his  manner,  and  a  certain  jovial  cosmopolitanism 
sat  upon  his  features.  He  was  several  years  older 
than  the  first  arrival,  his  hair  being  slightly  frosted, 
his  eyebrows  bristly,  and  his  whiskers  cut  back  from 
his  cheeks.  His  face  was  rather  full  and  flabby,  and 
yet  it  was  not  altogether  a  face  without  power.  A 
few  grog-blossoms  marked  the  neighbourhood  of  his 
nose.  He  flung  back  his  long  drab  greatcoat,  reveal- 
ing that  beneath  it  he  wore  a  suit  of  cinder-gray  shade 
throughout,  large  heavy  seals,  of  some  metal  or  other 
that  would  take  a  polish,  dangling  from  his  fob  as  his 
only  personal  ornament.  Shaking  the  water-drops 
from  his  low-crowned  glazed  hat,  he  said,  '  I  must  ask 
for  a  few  minutes'  shelter,  comrades,  or  I  shall  be 
wetted  to  my  skin  before  I  get  to  Casterbridge.' 

1  Make  yourself  at  home,  master,'  said  the  shepherd, 
perhaps  a  trifle  less  heartily  than  on  the  first  occasion. 
Not  that  Fennel  had  the  least  tinge  of  niggardliness 
in  his  composition  ;  but  the  room  was  far  from  large, 
spare  chairs  were  not  numerous,  and  damp  companions 
were  not  altogether  desirable  at  close  quarters  for  the 
women  and  girls  in  their  bright-coloured  gowns. 

However,  the  second  comer,  after  taking  off  his 
greatcoat,  and  hanging  his  hat  on  a  nail  in  one  of  the 
ceiling-beams  as  if  he  had  been  specially  invited  to  put 

12 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS 

it  there,  advanced  and  sat  down  at  the  table.  This 
had  been  pushed  so  closely  into  the  chimney-corner, 
to  give  all  available  room  to  the  dancers,  that  its  inner 
edge  grazed  the  elbow  of  the  man  who  had  ensconced 
himself  by  the  fire  ;  and  thus  the  two  strangers  were 
brought  into  close  companionship.  They  nodded  to 
each  other  by  way  of  breaking  the  ice  of  unacquaint- 
ance,  and  the  first  stranger  handed  his  neighbour  the 
family  mug — a  huge  vessel  of  brown  ware,  having  its 
upper  edge  worn  away  like  a  threshold  by  the  rub  of 
whole  generations  of  thirsty  lips  that  had  gone  the 
way  of  all  flesh,  and  bearing  the  following  inscription 
burnt  upon  its  rotund  side  in  yellow  letters : — 

THERE  IS   NO  FUN 
UNTiLL   i  CUM. 

The  other  man,  nothing  loth,  raised  the  mug  to  his 
lips,  and  drank  on,  and  on,  and  on — till  a  curious 
blueness  overspread  the  countenance  of  the  shepherd's 
wife,  who  had  regarded  with  no  little  surprise  the  first 
stranger's  free  offer  to  the  second  of  what  did  not 
belong  to  him  to  dispense. 

'  I  knew  it ! '  said  the  toper  to  the  shepherd  with 
much  satisfaction.  '  When  I  walked  up  your  garden 
before  coming  in,  and  saw  the  hives  all  of  a  row,  I 
said  to  myself,  "Where  there's  bees  there's  honey,  and 
where  there's  honey  there's  mead."  But  mead  of 
such  a  truly  comfortable  sort  as  this  I  really  didn't 
expect  to  meet  in  my  older  days.'  He  took  yet 
another  pull  at  the  mug,  till  it  assumed  an  ominous 
elevation. 

'  Glad  you  enjoy  it ! '  said  the  shepherd  warmly. 

'  It  is  goodish  mead,'  assented  Mrs.  Fennel,  with 
an  absence  of  enthusiasm  which  seemed  to  say  that  it 
was  possible  to  buy  praise  for  one's  cellar  at  too  heavy 
a  price.  '  It  is  trouble  enough  to  make — and  really  I 
hardly  think  we  shall  make  any  more.  For  honey 
sells  well,  and  we  ourselves  can  make  shift  with  a 

13 


WESSEX  TALES 

drop  o'  small  mead  and  metheglin  for  common  use 
from  the  comb-washings.' 

'  O,  but  you'll  never  have  the  heart!'  reproachfully 
cried  the  stranger  in  cinder-gray,  after  taking  up  the 
mug  a  third  time  and  setting  it  down  empty.  '  I 
love  mead,  when  'tis  old  like  this,  as  I  love  to  go  to 
church  o'  Sundays,  or  to  relieve  the  needy  any  day 
of  the  week.' 

'  Ha,  ha,  ha ! '  said  the  man  in  the  chimney-corner, 
who,  in  spite  of  the  taciturnity  induced  by  the  pipe 
of  tobacco,  could  not  or  would  not  refrain  from  this 
slight  testimony  to  his  comrade's  humour. 

Now  the  old  mead  of  those  days,  brewed  of  the 
purest  first-year  or  maiden  honey,  four  pounds  to  the 
gallon — with  its  due  complement  of  white  of  eggs, 
cinnamon,  ginger,  cloves,  mace,  rosemary,  yeast,  and 
processes  of  working,  bottling,  and  cellaring — tasted 
remarkably  strong ;  but  it  did  not  taste  so  strong  as 
it  actually  was.  Hence,  presently,  the  stranger  in 
cinder-gray  at  the  table,  moved  by  its  creeping  in- 
fluence, unbuttoned  his  waistcoat,  threw  himself  back 
in  his  chair,  spread  his  legs,  and  made  his  presence 
felt  in  various  ways. 

'  Well,  well,  as  I  say,'  he  resumed,  '  I  am  going 
to  Casterbridge,  and  to  Casterbridge  I  must  go.  I 
should  have  been  almost  there  by  this  time  ;  but  the 
rain  drove  me  into  your  dwelling,  and  I'm  not  sorry 
for  it.' 

1  You  don't  live  in  Casterbridge  ? '  said  the 
shepherd. 

1  Not  as  yet ;  though  I  shortly  mean  to  move 
there.' 

'  Going  to  set  up  in  trade,  perhaps  ?  ' 

4  No,  no,'  said  the  shepherd  s  wife.  '  It  is  easy  to 
see  that  the  gentleman  is  rich,  and  don't  want  to  work 
at  anything.' 

The  cinder-gray  stranger  paused,  as  if  to  consider 
whether  he  would  accept  that  definition  of  himself. 
He  presently  rejected  it  by  answering,  '  Rich  is  not 

14 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS 

quite  the  word  for  me,  dame.  I  do  work,  and  I  must 
work.  And  even  if  I  only  get  to  Casterbridge  by 
midnight  I  must  begin  work  there  at  eight  to-morrow 
morning.  Yes,  het  or  wet,  blow  or  snow,  famine  or 
sword,  my  day's  work  to-morrow  must  be  done.' 

4  Poor  man !  Then,  in  spite  o'  seeming,  you  be 
worse  off  than  we  ?  '  replied  the  shepherd's  wife. 

4 'Tis  the  nature  of  my  trade,  men  and  maidens. 
'Tis  the  nature  of  my  trade  more  than  my  poverty.  .  .  . 
But  really  and  truly  I  must  up  and  off,  or  I  shan't  get 
a  lodging  in  the  town.'  However,  the  speaker  did 
not  move,  and  directly  added,  '  There's  time  for  one 
more  draught  of  friendship  before  I  go;  and  I'd 
perform  it  at  once  if  the  mug  were  not  dry.' 

4  Here's  a  mug  o'  small,'  said  Mrs.  Fennel.  4 Small, 
we  call  it,  though  to  be  sure  'tis  only  the  first  wash  o' 
the  combs.' 

'  No,'  said  the  stranger  disdainfully.  4 1  won't 
spoil  your  first  kindness  by  partaking  o'  your  second.' 

4  Certainly  not,'  broke  in  Fennel.  4  We  don't 
increase  and  multiply  every  day,  and  I'll  fill  the  mug 
again.'  He  went  away  to  the  dark  place  under  the 
stairs  where  the  barrel  stood.  The  shepherdess 
followed  him. 

4  Why  should  you  do  this  ?  '  she  said  reproachfully, 
as  soon  as  they  were  alone.  4  He's  emptied  it  once, 
though  it  held  enough  for  ten  people  ;  and  now  he's 
not  contented  wi'  the  small,  but  must  needs  call  for 
more  o'  the  strong !  And  a  stranger  unbeknown  to 
any  of  us.  For  my  part,  I  don't  like  the  look  o'  the 
man  at  all.' 

4  But  he's  in  the  house,  my  honey ;  and  'tis  a  wet 
night,  and  a  christening.  Daze  it,  what's  a  cup  of 
mead  more  or  less?  There'll  be  plenty  more  next 
bee-burning.' 

4Very  well — this  time,  then,'  she  answered,  look- 
ing wistfully  at  the  barrel.  '  But  what  is  the  man's 
calling,  and  where  is  he  one  of,  that  he  should  come 
in  and  join  us  like  this  ? ' 

IS 


WESSEX  TALES 

'  I  don't  know.     I'll  ask  him  again.' 

The  catastrophe  of  having  the  mug  drained  dry  at 
one  pull  by  the  stranger  in  cinder-gray  was  effectually 
guarded  against  this  time  by  Mrs.  Fennel.  She 
poured  out  his  allowance  in  a  small  cup,  keeping  the 
large  one  at  a  discreet  distance  from  him.  When  he 
had  tossed  off  his  portion  the  shepherd  renewed  his 
inquiry  about  the  stranger's  occupation. 

The  latter  did  not  immediately  reply,  and  the  man 
in  the  chimney-corner,  with  sudden  demonstrative- 
ness,  said,  'Anybody  may  know  my  trade— I'm  a 
wheelwright.' 

1 A  very  good  trade  for  these  parts,'  said  the 
shepherd. 

4  And  anybody  may  know  mine — if  they've  the 
sense  to  find  it  out,'  said  the  stranger  in  cinder-gray. 

1  You  may  generally  tell  what  a  man  is  by  his 
claws,'  observed  the  hedge-carpenter,  looking  at  his 
own  hands,  '  My  fingers  be  as  full  of  thorns  as  an 
old  pin-cushion  is  of  pins.' 

The  hands  of  the  man  in  the  chimney-corner 
instinctively  sought  the  shade,  and  he  gazed  into  the 
fire  as  he  resumed  his  pipe.  The  man  at  the  table 
took  up  the  hedge-carpenter's  remark,  and  added 
smartly,  '  True  ;  but  the  oddity  of  my  trade  is  that, 
instead  of  setting  a  mark  upon  me,  it  sets  a  mark 
upon  my  customers.' 

No  observation  being  offered  by  anybody  in  eluci- 
dation of  this  enigma  the  shepherd's  wife  once  more 
called  for  a  song.  The  same  obstacles  presented 
themselves  as  at  the  former  time — one  had  no  voice, 
another  had  forgotten  the  first  verse.  The  stranger 
at  the  table,  whose  soul  had  now  risen  to  a  good 
working  temperature,  relieved  the  difficulty  by  ex- 
claiming that,  to  start  the  company,  he  would  sing 
himself.  Thrusting  one  thumb  into  the  arm-hole  of 
his  waistcoat,  he  waved  the  other  hand  in  the  air, 
and,  with  an  extemporizing  gaze  at  the  shining  sheep- 
crooks  above  the  mantelpiece,  began  : — 

16 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS 

'  O  my  trade  it  is  the  rarest  one, 

Simple  shepherds  all — 
My  trade  is  a  sight  to  see ; 

For  my  customers  I  tie,  and  take  them  up  on  high, 
And  waft  'em  to  a  far  countree ! ' 

The  room  was  silent  when  he  had  finished  the  verse 
— with  one  exception,  that  of  the  man  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  who,  at  the  singer's  word,  '  Chorus ! '  joined 
him  in  a  deep  bass  voice  of  musical  relish — 

'  And  waft  'em  to  a  far  countree ! ' 

Oliver  Giles,  John  Pitcher  the  dairyman,  the  parish- 
clerk,  the  engaged  man  of  fifty,  the  row  of  young 
women  against  the  wall,  seemed  lost  in  thought  not 
of  the  gayest  kind.  The  shepherd  looked  medita- 
tively on  the  ground,  the  shepherdess  gazed  keenly 
at  the  singer,  and  with  some  suspicion ;  she  was 
doubting  whether  this  stranger  were  merely  singing 
an  old  song  from  recollection,  or  was  composing  one 
there  and  then  for  the  occasion.  All  were  as  per- 
plexed at  the  obscure  revelation  as  the  guests  at 
Belshazzar's  Feast,  except  the  man  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  who  quietly  said,  '  Second  verse,  stranger,' 
and  smoked  on. 

The  singer  thoroughly  moistened  himself  from  his 
lips  inwards,  and  went  on  with  the  next  stanza  as 
requested : — 

'  My  tools  are  but  common  ones, 

Simple  shepherds  all — 
My  tools  are  no  sight  to  see  : 

A  little  hempen  string,  and  a  post  whereon  to  swing, 
Are  implements  enough  for  me  ! ' 

Shepherd  Fennel  glanced  round.  There  was  no 
longer  any  doubt  that  the  stranger  was  answering 
his  question  rhythmically.  The  guests  one  and  all 
started  back  with  suppressed  exclamations.  The 
young  woman  engaged  to  the  man  of  fifty  fainted 
half-way,  and  would  have  proceeded,  but  finding  him 

17 


WESSEX  TALES 

wanting  in  alacrity  for  catching  her  she  sat  down 
trembling. 

1  O,  he's  the ! '  whispered  the  people  in  the 

background,  mentioning  the  name  of  an  ominous 
public  officer.  '  He's  come  to  do  it !  'Tis  to  be  at 
Casterbridge  jail  to-morrow  —  the  man  for  sheep- 
stealing — the  poor  clock-maker  we  heard  of,  who 
used  to  live  away  at  Shottsford  and  had  no  work  to 
do — Timothy  Summers,  whose  family  were  a-starving, 
and  so  he  went  out  of  Shottsford  by  the  high-road, 
and  took  a  sheep  in  open  daylight,  defying  the  farmer 
and  the  farmer's  wife  and  the  farmer's  lad,  and  every 
man  jack  among  'em.  He '  (and  they  nodded  towards 
the  stranger  of  the  deadly  trade)  '  is  come  from  up 
the  country  to  do  it  because  there's  not  enough  to  do 
in  his  own  county-town,  and  he's  got  the  place  here 
now  our  own  county  man's  dead ;  he's  going  to  live 
in  the  same  cottage  under  the  prison  wall.' 

The  stranger  in  cinder-gray  took  no  notice  of  this 
whispered  string  of  observations,  but  again  wetted  his 
lips.  Seeing  that  his  friend  in  the  chimney-corner 
was  the  only  one  who  reciprocated  his  joviality  in  any 
way,  he  held  out  his  cup  towards  that  appreciative 
comrade,  who  also  held  out  his  own.  They  clinked 
together,  the  eyes  of  the  rest  of  the  room  hanging 
upon  the  singer's  actions.  He  parted  his  lips  for  the 
third  verse ;  but  at  that  moment  another  knock  was 
audible  upon  the  door.  This  time  the  knock  was 
faint  and  hesitating. 

The  company  seemed  scared  ;  the  shepherd  looked 
with  consternation  towards  the  entrance,  and  it  was 
with  some  effort  that  he  resisted  his  alarmed  wife's 
deprecatory  glance,  and  uttered  for  the  third  time 
the  welcoming  words,  '  Walk  in  ! ' 

The  door  was  gently  opened,  and  another  man 
stood  upon  the  mat.  He,  like  those  who  had  pre- 
ceded him,  was  a  stranger.  This  time  it  was  a 
short,  small  personage,  of  fair  complexion,  and  dressed 
in  a  decent  suit  of  dark  clothes. 

18 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS 

1  Can   you  tell  me  the  way  to ? '  he  began  : 

when,  gazing  round  the  room  to  observe  the  nature 
of  the  company  amongst  whom  he  had  fallen,  his 
eyes  lighted  on  the  stranger  in  cinder-gray.  It  was 
just  at  the  instant  when  the  latter,  who  had  thrown 
his  mind  into  his  song  with  such  a  will  that  he 
scarcely  heeded  the  interruption,  silenced  all  whispers 
and  inquiries  by  bursting  into  his  third  verse  : — 

*  To-morrow  is  my  working  day, 

Simple  shepherds  all — 
To-morrow  is  a  working  day  for  me  : 

For  the  farmer's  sheep  is  slain,  and  the  lad  who  did  it  ta'en, 
And  on  his  soul  may  God  ha'  merc-y ! ' 

The  stranger  in  the  chimney-corner,  waving  cups  with 
the  singer  so  heartily  that  his  mead  splashed  over  on 
the  hearth,  repeated  in  his  bass  voice  as  before : — 

'  And  on  his  soul  may  God  ha'  merc-y ! ' 

All  this  time  the  third  stranger  had  been  standing 
in  the  doorway.  Finding  now  that  he  did  not  come 
forward  or  go  on  speaking,  the  guests  particularly 
regarded  him.  They  noticed  to  their  surprise  that 
he  stood  before  them  the  picture  of  abject  terror — 
his  knees  trembling,  his  hand  shaking  so  violently 
that  the  door-latch  by  which  he  supported  himself 
rattled  audibly :  his  white  lips  were  parted,  and  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  merry  officer  of  justice  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  A  moment  more  and  he  had 
turned,  closed  the  door,  and  fled. 

1  What  a  man  can  it  be  ? '  said  the  shepherd. 

The  rest,  between  the  awfulness  of  their  late 
discovery  and  the  odd  conduct  of  this  third  visitor, 
looked  as  if  they  knew  not  what  to  think,  and  said 
nothing.  Instinctively  they  withdrew  further  and 
further  from  the  grim  gentleman  in  their  midst, 
whom  some  of  them  seemed  to  take  for  the  Prince 
of  Darkness  himself,  till  they  formed  a  remote  circle, 

19 


WESSEX  TALES 

an  empty  space  of  floor  being  left  between  them  and 

him — 

'.  .  .  circulus,  cujus  centrum  diabolus.' 

The  room  was  so  silent — though  there  were  more 
than  twenty  people  in  it — that  nothing  could  be  heard 
but  the  patter  of  the  rain  against  the  window-shutters, 
accompanied  by  the  occasional  hiss  of  a  stray  drop 
that  fell  down  the  chimney  into  the  fire,  and  the 
steady  puffing  of  the  man  in  the  corner,  who  had 
now  resumed  his  pipe  of  long  clay. 

The  stillness  was  unexpectedly  broken.  The 
distant  sound  of  a  gun  reverberated  through  the 
air — apparently  from  the  direction  of  the  county-town. 

'  Be  jiggered ! '  cried  the  stranger  who  had  sung 
the  song,  jumping  up. 

4  What  does  that  mean  ? '  asked  several. 

4  A  prisoner  escaped  from  the  jail — that's  what  it 
means.' 

All  listened.  The  sound  was  repeated,  and  none 
of  them  spoke  but  the  man  in  the  chimney-corner, 
who  said  quietly,  '  I've  often  been  told  that  in  this 
county  they  fire  a  gun  at  such  times ;  but  I  never 
heard  it  till  now.' 

4  I  wonder  if  it  is  my  man  ? '  murmured  the  per- 
sonage in  cinder-gray. 

4  Surely  it  is ! '  said  the  shepherd  involuntarily. 
4  And  surely  we've  zeed  him !  That  little  man  who 
looked  in  at  the  door  by  now,  and  quivered  like  a 
leaf  when  he  zeed  ye  and  heard  your  song ! ' 

4  His  teeth  chattered,  and  the  breath  went  out 
of  his  body,'  said  the  dairyman. 

'  And  his  heart  seemed  to  sink  within  him  like 
a  stone,'  said  Oliver  Giles. 

4  And  he  bolted  as  if  he'd  been  shot  at,'  said  the 
hedge-carpenter. 

4  True — his  teeth  chattered,  and  his  heart  seemed 
to  sink ;  and  he  bolted  as  if  he'd  been  shot  at,'  slowly 
summed  up  the  man  in  the  chimney-corner. 

20 


'  I  didn't  notice  it,'  remarked  the  hangman. 

'  We  were  all  a-wondering  what  made  him  run 
off  in  such  a  fright,'  faltered  one  of  the  women  against 
the  wall,  '  and  now  'tis  explained  ! ' 

The  firing  of  the  alarm-gun  went  on  at  intervals, 
low  and  sullenly,  and  their  suspicions  became  a 
certainty.  The  sinister  gentleman  in  cinder-gray 
roused  himself.  '  Is  there  a  constable  here  ? '  he 
asked,  in  thick  tones.  '  If  so,  let  him  step  forward.' 

The  engaged  man  of  fifty  stepped  quavering  out 
from  the  wall,  his  betrothed  beginning  to  sob  on  the 
back  of  the  chair. 

'  You  are  a  sworn  constable  ? ' 

'I  be,  sir.' 

4  Then  pursue  the  criminal  at  once,  with  assistance, 
and  bring  him  back  here.  He  can't  have  gone  far.' 

'  I  will,  sir,  I  will — when  I've  got  my  staff.  I'll 
go  home  and  get  it,  and  come  sharp  here,  and  start 
in  a  body.' 

'Staff! — never  mind  your  staff;  the  man'll  be 
gone  ! ' 

'  But  I  can't  do  nothing  without  my  staff — can 
I,  William,  and  John,  and  Charles  Jake?  No;  for 
there's  the  king's  royal  crown  a  painted  on  en  in 
yaller  and  gold,  and  the  lion  and  the  unicorn,  so  as 
when  I  raise  en  up  and  hit  my  prisoner,  'tis  made 
a  lawful  blow  thereby.  I  wouldn't  'tempt  to  take 
up  a  man  without  my  staff — no,  not  I.  If  I  hadn't 
the  law  to  gie  me  courage,  why,  instead  o'  my  taking 
up  him  he  might  take  up  me ! ' 

'Now,  I'm  a  king's  man  myself,  and  can  give 
you  authority  enough  for  this,'  said  the  formidable 
officer  in  gray.  '  Now  then,  all  of  ye,  be  ready. 
Have  ye  any  lanterns?' 

'  Yes — have  ye  any  lanterns  ? — I  demand  it ! ' 
said  the  constable. 

'  And  the  rest  of  you  able-bodied ' 

'  Able-bodied  men — yes — the  rest  of  ye ! '  said  the 
constable. 

21 


WESSEX  TALES 

'  Have  you  some  good  stout  staves  and  pitch- 
forks  ' 

'  Staves  and  pitchforks — in  the  name  o'  the  law ! 
And  take  'em  in  yer  hands  and  go  in  quest,  and  do 
as  we  in  authority  tell  ye ! ' 

Thus  aroused,  the  men  prepared  to  give  chase. 
The  evidence  was,  indeed,  though  circumstantial, 
so  convincing,  that  but  little  argument  was  needed 
to  show  the  shepherd's  guests  that  after  what  they 
had  seen  it  would  look  very  much  like  connivance 
if  they  did  not  instantly  pursue  the  unhappy  third 
stranger,  who  could  not  as  yet  have  gone  more  than 
a  few  hundred  yards  over  such  uneven  country. 

A  shepherd  is  always  well  provided  with  lanterns ; 
and,  lighting  these  hastily,  and  with  hurdle-staves  in 
their  hands,  they  poured  out  of  the  door,  taking  a 
direction  along  the  crest  of  the  hill,  away  from  the 
town,  the  rain  having  fortunately  a  little  abated. 

Disturbed  by  the  noise,  or  possibly  by  unpleasant 
dreams  of  her  baptism,  the  child  who  had  been 
christened  began  to  cry  heart-brokenly  in  the  room 
overhead.  These  notes  of  grief  came  down  through 
the  chinks  of  the  floor  to  the  ears  of  the  women  below, 
who  jumped  up  one  by  one,  and  seemed  glad  of  the 
excuse  to  ascend  and  comfort  the  baby,  for  the 
incidents  of  the  last  half-hour  greatly  oppressed  them. 
Thus  in  the  space  of  two  or  three  minutes  the  room 
on  the  ground-floor  was  deserted  quite. 

But  it  was  not  for  long.  Hardly  had  the  sound  of 
footsteps  died  away  when  a  man  returned  round  the 
corner  of  the  house  from  the  direction  the  pursuers 
had  taken.  Peeping  in  at  the  door,  and  seeing 
nobody  there,  he  entered  leisurely.  It  was  the 
stranger  of  the  chimney-corner,  who  had  gone  out 
with  the  rest.  The  motive  of  his  return  was  shown 
by  his  helping  himself  to  a  cut  piece  of  skimmer-cake 
that  lay  on  a  ledge  beside  where  he  had  sat,  and 
which  he  had  apparently  forgotten  to  take  with  him. 
He  also  poured  out  half  a  cup  more  mead  from  the 

22 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS 

quantity  that  remained,  ravenously  eating  and  drink- 
ing these  as  he  stood.  He  had  not  finished  when 
another  figure  came  in  just  as  quietly — his  friend  in 
cinder-gray. 

'  O  —  you  here  ? '  said  the  latter,  smiling.  '  I 
thought  you  had  gone  to  help  in  the  capture.'  And 
this  speaker  also  revealed  the  object  of  his  return  by 
looking  solicitously  round  for  the  fascinating  mug  of 
old  mead. 

'  And  I  thought  you  had  gone,'  said  the  other, 
continuing  his  skimmer-cake  with  some  effort. 

1  Well,  on  second  thoughts,  I  felt  there  were 
enough  without  me,'  said  the  first  confidentially,  '  and 
such  a  night  as  it  is,  too.  Besides,  'tis  the  business 
o'  the  Government  to  take  care  of  its  criminals — not 
mine.' 

'  True  ;  so  it  is.  And  I  felt  as  you  did,  that  there 
were  enough  without  me.' 

'  I  don't  want  to  break  my  limbs  running  over  the 
humps  and  hollows  of  this  wild  country.' 

'  Nor  I  neither,  between  you  and  me.' 

'  These  shepherd-people  are  used  to  it — simple- 
minded  souls,  you  know,  stirred  up  to  anything  in  a 
moment.  They'll  have  him  ready  for  me  before  the 
morning,  and  no  trouble  to  me  at  all.' 

1  They'll  have  him,  and  we  shall  have  saved  our- 
selves all  labour  in  the  matter.' 

'  True,  true.  Well,  my  way  is  to  Casterbridge ; 
and  'tis  as  much  as  my  legs  will  do  to  take  me  that 
far.  Going  the  same  way  ? ' 

1  No,  I  am  sorry  to  say !  I  have  to  get  home  over 
there '  (he  nodded  indefinitely  to  the  right),  '  and  I 
feel  as  you  do,  that  it  is  quite  enough  for  my  legs 
to  do  before  bedtime.' 

The  other  had  by  this  time  finished  the  mead  in 
the  mug,  after  which,  shaking  hands  heartily  at  the 
door,  and  wishing  each  other  well,  they  went  their 
several  ways. 

In   the   meantime  the  company  of  pursuers  had 

23 


WESSEX  TALES 

reached  the  end  of  the  hog's-back  elevation  which 
dominated  this  part  of  the  down.  They  had  decided 
on  no  particular  plan  of  action ;  and,  finding  that  the 
man  of  the  baleful  trade  was  no  longer  in  their 
company,  they  seemed  quite  unable  to  form  any  such 
plan  now.  They  descended  in  all  directions  clown  the 
hill,  and  straightway  several  of  the  party  fell  into 
the  snare  set  by  Nature  for  all  misguided  midnight 
ramblers  over  this  part  of  the  cretaceous  formation. 
The  '  lanchets,'  or  flint  slopes,  which  belted  the  escarp- 
ment at  intervals  of  a  dozen  yards,  took  the  less 
cautious  ones  unawares,  and  losing  their  footing  on 
the  rubbly  steep  they  slid  sharply  downwards,  the 
lanterns  rolling  from  their  hands  to  the  bottom,  and 
there  lying  on  their  sides  till  the  horn  was  scorched 
through. 

When  they  had  again  gathered  themselves  to- 
gether the  shepherd,  as  the  man  who  knew  the 
country  best,  took  the  lead,  and  guided  them  round 
these  treacherous  inclines.  The  lanterns,  which 
seemed  rather  to  dazzle  their  eyes  and  warn  the 
fugitive  than  to  assist  them  in  the  exploration,  were 
extinguished,  due  silence  was  observed ;  and  in  this 
more  rational  order  they  plunged  into  the  vale.  It 
was  a  grassy,  briery,  moist  defile,  affording  some 
shelter  to  any  person  who  had  sought  it ;  but  the 
party  perambulated  it  in  vain,  and  ascended  on  the 
other  side.  Here  they  wandered  apart,  and  after  an 
interval  closed  together  again  to  report  progress. 
At  the  second  time  of  closing  in  they  found  them- 
selves near  a  lonely  ash,  the  single  tree  on  this  part 
of  the  coomb,  probably  sown  there  by  a  passing  bird 
some  fifty  years  before.  And  here,  standing  a  little 
to  one  side  of  the  trunk,  as  motionless  as  the  trunk 
itself,  appeared  the  man  they  were  in  quest  of,  his 
outline  being  well  defined  against  the  sky  beyond. 
The  band  noiselessly  drew  up  and  faced  him. 

'  Your  money  or  your  life ! '  said  the  constable 
sternly  to  the  still  figure. 

24 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS 

'  No,  no/  whispered  John  Pitcher.  '  'Tisn't  our 
side  ought  to  say  that.  That's  the  doctrine  of  vaga- 
bonds like  him,  and  we  be  on  the  side  of  the  law.' 

'  Well,  well,'  replied  the  constable  impatiently  ;  '  I 
must  say  something,  mustn't  I  ?  and  if  you  had  all  the 
weight  o'  this  undertaking  upon  your  mind,  perhaps 
you'd  say  the  wrong  thing  too ! — Prisoner  at  the  bar, 
surrender,  in  the  name  of  the  Father — the  Crown,  I 
mane ! ' 

The  man  under  the  tree  seemed  now  to  notice 
them  for  the  first  time,  and,  giving  them  no  oppor- 
tunity whatever  for  exhibiting  their  courage,  he 
strolled  slowly  towards  them.  He  was,  indeed,  the 
little  man,  the  third  stranger ;  but  his  trepidation  had 
in  a  great  measure  gone. 

'  Well,  travellers,'  he  said,  '  did  I  hear  ye  speak  to 
me?' 

*  You  did  :  you've  got  to  come  and  be  our  prisoner 
at  once  ! '  said  the  constable.  '  We  arrest  'ee  on  the 
charge  of  not  biding  in  Casterbridge  jail  in  a  decent 
proper  manner  to  be  hung  to-morrow  morning. 
Neighbours,  do  your  duty,  and  seize  the  culpet ! ' 

On  hearing  the  charge  the  man  seemed  en- 
lightened, and,  saying  not  another  word,  resigned 
himself  with  preternatural  civility  to  the  search-party, 
who,  with  their  staves  in  their  hands,  surrounded  him 
on  all  sides,  and  marched  him  back  towards  the 
shepherd's  cottage. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  by  the  time  they  arrived. 
The  light  shining  from  the  open  door,  a  sound  of 
men's  voices  within,  proclaimed  to  them  as  they 
approached  the  house  that  some  new  events  had 
arisen  in  their  absence.  On  entering  they  discovered 
the  shepherd's  living  room  to  be  invaded  by  two 
officers  from  Casterbridge  jail,  and  a  well-known 
magistrate  who  lived  at  the  nearest  country-seat, 
intelligence  of  the  escape  having  become  generally 
circulated. 

'  Gentlemen/  said  the  constable,  '  I  have  brought 

25 


WESSEX  TALES 

back  your  man — not  without  risk  and  danger ;  but 
every  one  must  do  his  duty  !  He  is  inside  this  circle 
of  able-bodied  persons,  who  have  lent  me  useful  aid, 
considering  their  ignorance  of  Crown  work.  Men, 
bring  forward  your  prisoner ! '  And  the  third  stranger 
was  led  to  the  light. 

'  Who  is  this  ? '  said  one  of  the  officials. 

'The  man,'  said  the  constable. 

1  Certainly  not,'  said  the  turnkey ;  and  the  first 
corroborated  his  statement. 

'  But  how  can  it  be  otherwise  ? '  asked  the  con- 
stable. '  Or  why  was  he  so  terrified  at  sight  o"  the 
singing  instrument  of  the  law  who  sat  there?'  Here 
he  related  the  strange  behaviour  of  the  third  stranger 
on  entering  the  house  during  the  hangman's  song. 

'  Can't  understand  it,'  said  the  officer  coolly.  '  All 
I  know  is  that  it  is  not  the  condemned  man.  He's 
quite  a  different  character  from  this  one ;  a  gauntish 
fellow,  with  dark  hair  and  eyes,  rather  good-looking, 
and  with  a  musical  bass  voice  that  if  you  heard  it  once 
you'd  never  mistake  as  long  as  you  lived.' 

'Why,  souls — 'twas  the  man  in  the  chimney- 
corner  ! ' 

'Hey — what?'  said  the  magistrate,  coming  for- 
ward after  inquiring  particulars  from  the  shepherd  in 
the  background.  '  Haven't  you  got  the  man  after  all?' 

1  Well,  sir,'  said  the  constable,  *  he's  the  man  we 
were  in  search  of,  that's  true ;  and  yet  he's  not  the 
man  we  were  in  search  of.  For  the  man  we  were  in 
search  of  was  not  the  man  we  wanted,  sir,  if  you 
understand  my  every-day  way ;  for  'twas  the  man  in 
the  chimney-corner ! ' 

'  A  pretty  kettle  of  fish  altogether ! '  said  the 
magistrate.  '  You  had  better  start  for  the  other  man 
at  once.' 

The  prisoner  now  spoke  for  the  first  time.  The 
mention  of  the  man  in  the  chimney-corner  seemed  to 
have  moved  him  as  nothing  else  could  do.  '  Sir,'  he 
said,  stepping  forward  to  the  magistrate,  'take  no 

26 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS 

more  trouble  about  me.  The  time  is  come  when  I 
may  as  well  speak.  I  have  done  nothing ;  my  crime 
is  that  the  condemned  man  is  my  brother.  Early  this 
afternoon  I  left  home  at  Shottsford  to  tramp  it  all  the 
way  to  Casterbridge  jail  to  bid  him  farewell.  I  was 
benighted,  and  called  here  to  rest  and  ask  the  way. 
When  I  opened  the  door  I  saw  before  me  the  very 
man,  my  brother,  that  I  thought  to  see  in  the 
condemned  cell  at  Casterbridge.  He  was  in  this 
chimney-corner ;  and  jammed  close  to  him,  so  that 
he  could  not  have  got  out  if  he  had  tried,  was  the 
executioner  who'd  come  to  take  his  life,  singing  a 
song  about  it  and  not  knowing  that  it  was  his  victim 
who  was  close  by,  joining  in  to  save  appearances. 
My  brother  threw  a  glance  of  agony  at  me,  and  I 
knew  he  meant,  "  Don't  reveal  what  you  see ;  my 
life  depends  on  it."  I  was  so  terror-struck  that  I 
could  hardly  stand,  and,  not  knowing  what  I  did,  I 
turned  and  hurried  away.' 

The  narrator's  manner  and  tone  had  the  stamp  of 
truth,  and  his  story  made  a  great  impression  on  all 
around.  '  And  do  you  know  where  your  brother  is 
at  the  present  time  ? '  asked  the  magistrate. 

1 1  do  not.  I  have  never  seen  him  since  I  closed 
this  door.'  . 

1 1  can  testify  to  that,  for  we've  been  between  ye 
ever  since,'  said  the  constable. 

'Where  does  he  think  to  fly  to? — what  is  his 
occupation  ? ' 

'  He's  a  watch-and-clock-maker,  sir.' 

1  'A  said  'a  was  a  wheelwright — a  wicked  rogue,' 
said  the  constable. 

'  The  wheels  of  clocks  and  watches  he  meant,  no 
doubt,'  said  Shepherd  Fennel.  '  I  thought  his  hands 
were  palish  for's  trade.' 

1  Well,  it  appears  to  me  that  nothing  can  be  gained 
by  retaining  this  poor  man  in  custody,'  said  the  magis- 
trate ;  '  your  business  lies  with  the  other,  unquestion- 
ably.' 

27 


WESSEX  TALES 

And  so  the  little  man  was  released  off-hand ;  but 
he  looked  nothing  the  less  sad  on  that  account,  it 
being  beyond  the  power  of  magistrate  or  constable 
to  raze  out  the  written  troubles  in  his  brain,  for  they 
concerned  another  whom  he  regarded  with  more 
solicitude  than  himself.  When  this  was  done,  and 
the  man  had  gone  his  way,  the  night  was  found  to  be 
so  far  advanced  that  it  was  deemed  useless  to  renew 
the  search  before  the  next  morning. 

Next  day,  accordingly,  the  quest  for  the  clever 
sheep-stealer  became  general  and  keen,  to  all  appear- 
ance at  least.  But  the  intended  punishment  was 
cruelly  disproportioned  to  the  transgression,  and  the 
sympathy  of  a  great  many  country-folk  in  that  district 
was  strongly  on  the  side  of  the  fugitive.  Moreover, 
his  marvellous  coolness  and  daring  in  hob-and-nobbing 
with  the  hangman,  under  the  unprecedented  circum- 
stances of  the  shepherd's  party,  won  their  admiration. 
So  that  it  may  be  questioned  if  all  those  who  ostensibly 
made  themselves  so  busy  in  exploring  woods  and 
fields  and  lanes  were  quite  so  thorough  when  it  came 
to  the  private  examination  of  their  own  lofts  and  out- 
houses. Stories  were  afloat  of  a  mysterious  figure 
being  occasionally  seen  in  some  old  overgrown  track- 
way or  other,  remote  from  turnpike  roads ;  but  when 
a  search  was  instituted  in  any  of  these  suspected 
quarters  nobody  was  found.  Thus  the  days  and 
weeks  passed  without  tidings. 

In  brief,  the  bass -voiced  man  of  the  chimney- 
corner  was  never  recaptured.  Some  said  that  he 
went  across  the  sea,  others  that  he  did  not,  but  buried 
himself  in  the  depths  of  a  populous  city.  At  any  rate, 
the  gentleman  in  cinder-gray  never  did  his  morning's 
work  at  Casterbridge,  nor  met  anywhere  at  all,  for 
business  purposes,  the  genial  comrade  with  whom  he 
had  passed  an  hour  of  relaxation  in  the  lonely  house 
on  the  slope  of  the  coomb. 

The  grass  has  long  been  green  on  the  graves  of 
Shepherd  Fennel  and  his  frugal  wife ;  the  guests  who 

28 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS 

made  up  the  christening  party  have  mainly  followed 
their  entertainers  to  the  tomb ;  the  baby  in  whose 
honour  they  all  had  met  is  a  matron  in  the  sere  and 
yellow  leaf.  But  the  arrival  of  the  three  strangers  at 
the  shepherd's  that  night,  and  the  details  connected 
therewith,  is  a  story  as  well  known  as  ever  in  the 
country  about  Higher  Crowstairs. 

March  1883. 


A  TRADITION  OF 

EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  FOUR 


A  TRADITION  OF 

EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  FOUR 

THE  widely  discussed  possibility  of  an  invasion  of 
England  through  a  Channel  tunnel  has  more  than 
once  recalled  old  Solomon  Selby's  story  to  my  mind. 

The  occasion  on  which  I  numbered  myself  among 
his  audience  was  one  evening  when  he  was  sitting  in 
the  yawning  chimney-corner  of  the  inn-kitchen,  with 
some  others  who  had  gathered  there,  and  I  entered 
for  shelter  from  the  rain.  Withdrawing  the  stem  of 
his  pipe  from  the  dental  notch  in  which  it  habitually 
rested,  he  leaned  back  in  the  recess  behind  him  and 
smiled  into  the  fire.  The  smile  was  neither  mirthful 
nor  sad,  not  precisely  humorous  nor  altogether 
thoughtful.  We  who  knew  him  recognized  it  in  a 
moment :  it  was  his  narrative  smile.  Breaking  off 
our  few  desultory  remarks  we  drew  up  closer,  and  he 
thus  began  : — 

'  My  father,  as  you  mid  know,  was  a  shepherd  all 
his  life,  and  lived  out  by  the  Cove  four  miles  yonder, 
where  I  was  born  and  lived  likewise,  till  I  moved 
here  shortly  afore  I  was  married.  The  cottage  that 
first  knew  me  stood  on  the  top  of  the  down,  near  the 
sea ;  there  was  no  house  within  a  mile  and  a  half  of 
it ;  it  was  built  o'  purpose  for  the  farm-shepherd,  and 
had  no  other  use.  They  tell  me  that  it  is  now  pulled 
down,  but  that  you  can  see  where  it  stood  by  the 
mounds  of  earth  and  a  few  broken  bricks  that  are 
still  lying  about.  It  was  a  bleak  and  dreary  place  in 

33 


WESSEX  TALES 

winter-time,  but  in  summer  it  was  well  enough,  though 
the  garden  never  came  to  much,  because  we  could  not 
get  up  a  good  shelter  for  the  vegetables  and  currant 
bushes ;  and  where  there  is  much  wind  they  don't 
thrive. 

*  Of  all  the  years  of  my  growing  up  the  ones  that 
bide  clearest  in  my  mind  were  eighteen  hundred  and 
three,  four,  and  five.  This  was  for  two  reasons  :  I 
had  just  then  grown  to  an  age  when  a  child's  eyes 
and  ears  take  in  and  note  down  everything  about  him, 
and  there  was  more  at  that  date  to  bear  in  mind  than 
there  ever  has  been  since  with  me.  It  was,  as  I  need 
hardly  tell  ye,  the  time  after  the  first  peace,  when 
Bonaparte  was  scheming  his  descent  upon  England. 
He  had  crossed  the  great  Alp  mountains,  fought  in 
Egypt,  drubbed  the  Turks,  the  Austrians,  and  the 
Proossians,  and  now  thought  he'd  have  a  slap  at  us. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  Channel,  scarce  out  of  sight 
and  hail  of  a  man  standing  on  our  English  shore,  the 
French  army  of  a  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  men 
and  fifteen  thousand  horses  had  been  brought  together 
from  all  parts,  and  were  drilling  every  day.  Bonaparte 
had  been  three  years  a-making  his  preparations  ;  and 
to  ferry  these  soldiers  and  cannon  and  horses  across 
he  had  contrived  a  couple  of  thousand  flat-bottomed 
boats.  These  boats  were  small  things,  but  wonder- 
fully built.  A  good  few  of  'em  were  so  made  as  to 
have  a  little  stable  on  board  each  for  the  two  horses 
that  were  to  haul  the  cannon  carried  at  the  stern.  To 
get  in  order  all  these,  and  other  things  required,  he 
had  assembled  there  five  or  six  thousand  fellows  that 
worked  at  trades — carpenters,  blacksmiths,  wheel- 
wrights, saddlers,  and  what  not.  O  'twas  a  curious 
time ! 

1  Every  morning  Neighbour  Boney  would  muster 
his  multitude  of  soldiers  on  the  beach,  draw  'em  up 
in  line,  practise  'em  in  the  manoeuvre  of  embarking, 
horses  and  all,  till  they  could  do  it  without  a  single 
hitch.  My  father  drove  a  flock  of  ewes  up  into 

34 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  FOUR 

Sussex  that  year,  and  as  he  went  along  the  drover's 
track  over  the  high  downs  thereabout  he  could  see 
this  drilling  actually  going  on — the  accoutrements  of 
the  rank  and  file  glittering  in  the  sun  like  silver.  It 
was  thought  and  always  said  by  my  uncle  Job, 
sergeant  of  foot  (who  used  to  know  all  about  these 
matters),  that  Bonaparte  meant  to  cross  with  oars  on 
a  calm  night.  The  grand  query  with  us  was,  Where 
would  my  gentleman  land  ?  Many  of  the  common 
people  thought  it  would  be  at  Dover ;  others,  who 
knew  how  unlikely  it  was  that  any  skilful  general 
would  make  a  business  of  landing  just  where  he  was 
expected,  said  he'd  go  either  east  into  the  River 
Thames,  or  west'ard  to  some  convenient  place,  most 
likely  one  of  the  little  bays  inside  the  Isle  of  Portland, 
between  the  Beal  and  St.  Alban's  Head — and  for 
choice  the  three-quarter-round  Cove,  screened  from 
every  mortal  eye,  that  seemed  made  o'  purpose,  out 
by  where  we  lived,  and  which  I've  dimmed  up  with 
two  tubs  of  brandy  across  my  shoulders  on  scores  o' 
dark  nights  in  my  younger  days.  Some  had  heard 
that  a  part  o'  the  French  fleet  would  sail  right  round 
Scotland,  and  come  up  the  Channel  to  a  suitable 
haven.  However,  there  was  much  doubt  upon  the 
matter  ;  and  no  wonder,  for  after-years  proved  that 
Bonaparte  himself  could  hardly  make  up  his  mind 
upon  that  great  and  very  particular  point,  where  to 
land.  His  uncertainty  came  about  in  this  wise,  that 
he  could  get  no  news  as  to  where  and  how  our  troops 
lay  in  waiting,  and  that  his  knowledge  of  possible 
places  where  flat-bottomed  boats  might  be  quietly  run 
ashore,  and  the  men  they  brought  marshalled  in  order, 
was  dim  to  the  last  degree.  Being  flat-bottomed, 
they  didn't  require  a  harbour  for  unshipping  their 
cargo  of  men,  but  a  good  shelving  beach  away  from 
sight,  and  with  a  fair  open  road  toward  London. 
How  the  question  posed  that  great  Corsican  tyrant 
(as  we  used  to  call  him),  what  pains  he  took  to  settle 
it,  and,  above  all,  what  a  risk  he  ran  on  one  particular 

35 


WESSEX  TALES 

night  in  trying  to  do  so,  were  known  only  to  one 
man  here  and  there ;  and  certainly  to  no  maker  of 
newspapers  or  printer  of  books,  or  my  account  o't 
would  not  have  had  so  many  heads  shaken  over  it  as 
it  has  by  gentry  who  only  believe  what  they  see  in 
printed  lines. 

'  The  flocks  my  father  had  charge  of  fed  all  about 
the  downs  near  our  house,  overlooking  the  sea  and 
shore  each  way  for  miles.  In  winter  and  early  spring 
father  was  up  a  deal  at  nights,  watching  and  tending 
the  lambing.  Often  he'd  go  to  bed  early,  and  turn 
out  at  twelve  or  one ;  and  on  the  other  hand,  he'd 
sometimes  stay  up  till  twelve  or  one,  and  then  turn  in 
to  bed.  As  soon  as  I  was  old  enough  I  used  to  help 
him,  mostly  in  the  way  of  keeping  an  eye  upon  the 
ewes  while  he  was  gone  home  to  rest.  This  is  what 
I  was  doing  in  a  particular  month  in  either  the  year 
four  or  five — I  can't  certainly  fix  which,  but  it  was 
long  before  I  was  took  away  from  the  sheepkeeping 
to  be  bound  prentice  to  a  trade.  Every  night  at  that 
time  I  was  at  the  fold,  about  half  a  mile,  or  it  may  be 
a  little  more,  from  our  cottage,  and  no  living  thing  at 
all  with  me  but  the  ewes  and  young  lambs.  Afeard  ? 
No  ;  I  was  never  afeard  of  being  alone  at  these  times  ; 
for  I  had  been  reared  in  such  an  out-step  place  that 
the  lack  o'  human  beings  at  night  made  me  less  fearful 
than  the  sight  of  'em.  Directly  I  saw  a  man's  shape 
after  dark  in  a  lonely  place  I  was  frightened  out  of 
my  senses. 

'  One  day  in  that  month  we  were  surprised  by  a 
visit  from  my  uncle  Job,  the  sergeant  in  the  Sixty-first 
foot,  then  in  camp  on  the  downs  above  King  George's 
watering-place,  several  miles  to  the  west  yonder. 
Uncle  Job  dropped  in  about  dusk,  and  went  up  with 
my  father  to  the  fold  for  an  hour  or  two.  Then  he 
came  home,  had  a  drop  to  drink  from  the  tub  of 
sperrits  that  the  smugglers  kept  us  in  for  housing 
their  liquor  when  they'd  made  a  run,  and  for  burning 
'em  off  when  there  was  danger.  After  that  he 

36 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  FOUR 

stretched  himself  out  on  the  settle  to  sleep.  I  went 
to  bed  :  at  one  o'clock  father  came  home,  and  waking 
me  to  go  and  take  his  place,  according  to  custom, 
went  to  bed  himself.  On  my  way  out  of  the  house 
I  passed  Uncle  Job  on  the  settle.  He  opened  his 
eyes,  and  upon  my  telling  him  where  I  was  going  he 
said  it  was  a  shame  that  such  a  youngster  as  I  should 
go  up  there  all  alone ;  and  when  he  had  fastened  up 
his  stock  and  waist-belt  he  set  off  along  with  me, 
taking  a  drop  from  the  sperrit-tub  in  a  little  flat  bottle 
that  stood  in  the  corner-cupboard. 

'  By  and  by  we  drew  up  to  the  fold,  saw  that  all 
was  right,  and  then,  to  keep  ourselves  warm,  curled 
up  in  a  heap  of  straw  that  lay  inside  the  thatched 
hurdles  we  had  set  up  to  break  the  stroke  of  the  wind 
when  there  was  any.  To-night,  however,  there  was 
none.  It  was  one  of  those  very  still  nights  when,  if 
you  stand  on  the  high  hills  anywhere  within  two  or 
three  miles  of  the  sea,  you  can  hear  the  rise  and  fall 
of  the  tide  along  the  shore,  coming  and  going  every 
few  moments  like  a  sort  of  great  snore  of  the  sleeping 
world.  Over  the  lower  ground  there  was  a  bit  of  a 
mist,  but  on  the  hill  where  we  lay  the  air  was  clear, 
and  the  moon,  then  in  her  last  quarter,  flung  a  fairly 
good  light  on  the  grass  and  scattered  straw. 

'While  we  lay  there  Uncle  Job  amused  me  by 
telling  me  strange  stories  of  the  wars  he  had  served 
in  and  the  wownds  he  had  got.  He  had  already 
fought  the  French  in  the  Low  Countries,  and  hoped 
to  fight  'em  again.  His  stories  lasted  so  long  that  at 
last  I  was  hardly  sure  that  I  was  not  a  soldier  myself, 
and  had  seen  such  service  as  he  told  of.  The  wonders 
of  his  tales  quite  bewildered  my  mind,  till  I  fell  asleep 
and  dreamed  of  battle,  smoke,  and  flying  soldiers,  all 
of  a  kind  with  the  doings  he  had  been  bringing  up 
to  me. 

'  How  long  my  nap  lasted  I  am  not  prepared  to 
say.  But  some  faint  sounds  over  and  above  the  rustle 
of  the  ewes  in  the  straw,  the  bleat  of  the  lambs,  and 

37 


WESSEX  TALES 

the  tinkle  of  the  sheep-bell  brought  me  to  my  waking 
senses.  Uncle  Job  was  still  beside  me ;  but  he  too 
had  fallen  asleep.  I  looked  out  from  the  straw,  and 
saw  what  it  was  that  had  aroused  me.  Two  men,  in 
boat-cloaks,  cocked  hats,  and  swords,  stood  by  the 
hurdles  about  twenty  yards  off. 

'  I  turned  my  ear  thitherward  to  catch  what  they 
were  saying,  but  though  I  heard  every  word  o't,  not 
one  did  I  understand.  They  spoke  in  a  tongue  that 
was  not  ours — in  French,  as  I  afterward  found.  But 
if  I  could  not  gain  the  meaning  of  a  word,  I  was 
shrewd  boy  enough  to  find  out  a  deal  of  the  talkers' 
business.  By  the  light  o'  the  moon  I  could  see  that 
one  of  'em  carried  a  roll  of  paper  in  his  hand,  while 
every  moment  he  spoke  quick  to  his  comrade,  and 
pointed  right  and  left  with  the  other  hand  to  spots 
along  the  shore.  There  was  no  doubt  that  he  was 
explaining  to  the  second  gentleman  the  shapes  and 
features  of  the  coast.  What  happened  soon  after 
made  this  still  clearer  to  me. 

'All  this  time  I  had  not  waked  Uncle  Job,  but 
now  I  began  to  be  afeared  that  they  might  light  upon 
us,  because  uncle  breathed  so  heavily  through's  nose. 
I  put  my  mouth  to  his  ear  and  whispered,  "  Uncle 
Job." 

'  'What  is  it,  my  boy?"  he  said,  just  as  if  he 
hadn  t  been  asleep  at  all. 

'  '  Hush!"  says  I.     "Two  French  generals — " 

'  '  French  ?  "  says  he. 

'  '  Yes,"  says  I.  "  Come  to  see  where  to  land 
their  army ! " 

'  I  pointed  'em  out ;  but  I  could  say  no  more,  for 
the  pair  were  coming  at  that  moment  much  nearer 
to  where  we  lay.  As  soon  as  they  got  as  near  as 
eight  or  ten  yards,  the  officer  with  a  roll  in  his  hand 
stooped  down  to  a  slanting  hurdle,  unfastened  his  roll 
upon  it,  and  spread  it  out.  Then  suddenly  he  sprung 
a  dark  lantern  open  on  the  paper,  and  showed  it  to  be 
a  map. 

38 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  FOUR 

"'What  be  they  looking  at?"  I  whispered  to 
Uncle  Job. 

'"A  chart  of  the  Channel,"  says  the  sergeant 
(knowing  about  such  things). 

'  The  other  French  officer  now  stooped  likewise, 
and  over  the  map  they  had  a  long  consultation,  as 
they  pointed  here  and  there  on  the  paper,  and  then 
hither  and  thither  at  places  along  the  shore  beneath 
us.  I  noticed  that  the  manner  of  one  officer  was  very 
respectful  toward  the  other,  who  seemed  much  his 
superior,  the  second  in  rank  calling  him  by  a  sort  of 
title  that  I  did  not  know  the  sense  of.  The  head  one, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  quite  familiar  with  his  friend, 
and  more  than  once  clapped  nim  on  the  shoulder. 

'  Uncle  Job  had  watched  as  well  as  I,  but  though 
the  map  had  been  in  the  lantern-light,  their  faces  had 
always  been  in  shade.  But  when  they  rose  from 
stooping  over  the  chart  the  light  flashed  upward,  and 
fell  smart  upon  one  of  'em's  features.  No  sooner  had 
this  happened  than  Uncle  Job  gasped,  and  sank  down 
as  if  he'd  been  in  a  fit. 

1  "What  is  it — what  is  it,  Uncle  Job  ?"  said  I. 

' "  O  good  God  !  "  says  he,  under  the  straw. 

'"What?  "says  I. 

'  "  Boney  !  "  he  groaned  out. 

4  "Who?"  says  I. 

'  "  Bonaparty,"  he  said.  "The  Corsican  ogre.  O 
that  I  had  got  but  my  new-flinted  firelock,  that  there 
man  should  die !  But  I  haven't  got  my  new-flinted 
firelock,  and  that  there  man  must  live.  So  lie  low,  as 
you  value  your  life  ! " 

'  I  did  lie  low,  as  you  mid  suppose.  But  I  couldn't 
help  peeping.  And  then  I  too,  lad  as  I  was,  knew 
that  it  was  the  face  of  Bonaparte.  Not  know  Boney  ? 
I  should  think  I  did  know  Boney.  I  should  have 
known  him  by  half  the  light  o'  that  lantern.  If  I  had 
seen  a  picture  of  his  features  once,  I  had  seen  it  a 
hundred  times.  There  was  his  bullet  head,  his  short 
neck,  his  round  yaller  cheeks  and  chin,  his  gloomy 

39 


WESSEX  TALES 

face,  and  his  great  glowing  eyes.  He  took  off  his  hat 
to  blow  himself  a  bit,  and  there  was  the  forelock  in 
the  middle  of  his  forehead,  as  in  all  the  draughts  of 
him.  In  moving,  his  cloak  fell  a  little  open,  and  I 
could  see  for  a  moment  his  white-fronted  jacket  and 
one  of  his  epaulets. 

'  But  none  of  this  lasted  long.  In  a  minute  he  and 
his  general  had  rolled  up  the  map,  shut  the  lantern, 
and  turned  to  go  down  toward  the  shore. 

1  Then  Uncle  Job  came  to  himself  a  bit.  "  Slipped 
across  in  the  night-time  to  see  how  to  put  his  men 
ashore,"  he  said.  "  The  like  o'  that  man's  coolness 
eyes  will  never  again  see  !  Nephew,  I  must  act  in 
this,  and  immediate,  or  England's  lost!" 

'  When  they  were  over  the  brow,  we  crope  out, 
and  went  some  little  way  to  look  after  them.  Half- 
way down  they  were  joined  by  two  others,  and  six  or 
seven  minutes  brought  them  to  the  shore.  Then, 
from  behind  a  rock,  a  boat  came  out  into  the  weak 
moonlight  of  the  Cove,  and  they  jumped  in  ;  it  put  off 
instantly,  and  vanished  in  a  few  minutes  between  the 
two  rocks  that  stand  at  the  mouth  of  the  Cove  as  we 
all  know.  We  dimmed  back  to  where  we  had  been 
before,  and  I  could  see,  a  short  way  out,  a  larger 
vessel,  though  still  not  very  large.  The  little  boat 
drew  up  alongside,  was  made  fast  at  the  stern  as  I 
suppose,  for  the  largest  sailed  away,  and  we  saw  no 
more. 

'  My  uncle  Job  told  his  officers  as  soon  as  he  got 
back  to  camp ;  but  what  they  thought  of  it  I  never 
heard — neither  did  he.  Boney's  army  never  came, 
and  a  good  job  for  me ;  for  the  Cove  below  my 
father's  house  was  where  he  meant  to  land,  as  this 
secret  visit  showed.  We  coast-folk  should  have  been 
cut  down  one  and  all,  and  I  should  not  have  sat  here 
to  tell  this  tale.' 

We  who  listened  to  old  Selby  that  night  have 
been  familiar  with  his  simple  grave-stone  for  these  ten 
years  past.  Thanks  to  the  incredulity  of  the  age  his 

40 


EIGHTEEN  HUNDRED  AND  FOUR 

tale  has  been  seldom  repeated.  But  if  anything  short 
of  the  direct  testimony  of  his  own  eyes  could  persuade 
an  auditor  that  Bonaparte  had  examined  these  shores 
for  himself  with  a  view  to  a  practicable  landing-place, 
it  would  have  been  Solomon  Selby's  manner  of 
narrating  the  adventure  which  befell  him  on  the 
down. 

Christmas  iSSa. 


THE  MELANCHOLY  HUSSAR 

OF  THE  GERMAN  LEGION 


THE  MELANCHOLY  HUSSAR 

OF  THE  GERMAN  LEGION 


HERE  stretch  the  downs,  high  and  breezy  and  green, 
absolutely  unchanged  since  those  eventful  days.  A 
plough  has  never  disturbed  the  turf,  and  the  sod  that 
was  uppermost  then  is  uppermost  now.  Here  stood 
the  camp  ;  here  are  distinct  traces  of  the  banks  thrown 
up  for  the  horses  of  the  cavalry,  and  spots  where  the 
midden-heaps  lay  are  still  to  be  observed.  At  night, 
when  I  walk  across  the  lonely  place,  it  is  impossible 
to  avoid  hearing,  amid  the  scourings  of  the  wind  over 
the  grass-bents  and  thistles,  the  old  trumpet  and  bugle 
calls,  the  rattle  of  the  halters ;  to  help  seeing  rows  of 
spectral  tents  and  the  impedimenta  of  the  soldiery. 
From  within  the  canvases  come  guttural  syllables  of 
foreign  tongues,  and  broken  songs  of  the  fatherland ; 
for  they  were  mainly  regiments  of  the  King's  German 
Legion  that  slept  round  the  tent-poles  hereabout  at 
that  time. 

It  was  nearly  ninety  years  ago.  The  British  uni- 
form of  the  period,  with  its  immense  epaulettes,  queer 
cocked-hat,  breeches,  gaiters,  ponderous  cartridge-box, 
buckled  shoes,  and  what  not,  would  look  strange  and 
barbarous  now.  Ideas  have  changed ;  invention  has 
followed  invention.  Soldiers  were  monumental  objects 
then.  A  divinity  still  hedged  kings  here  and  there ; 
and  war  was  considered  a  glorious  thing. 

45 


WESSEX  TALES 

Secluded  old  manor-houses  and  hamlets  lie  in 
the  ravines  and  hollows  among  these  hills,  where  a 
stranger  had  hardly  ever  been  seen  till  the  King 
chose  to  take  the  baths  yearly  at  the  sea-side  watering- 
place  a  few  miles  to  the  south ;  as  a  consequence  of 
which  battalions  descended  in  a  cloud  upon  the  open 
country  around.  Is  it  necessary  to  add  that  the 
echoes  of  many  characteristic  tales,  dating  from  that 
picturesque  time,  still  linger  about  here  in  more  or 
less  fragmentary  form,  to  be  caught  by  the  attentive 
ear  ?  Some  of  them  I  have  repeated ;  most  of  them 
I  have  forgotten  ;  one  I  have  never  repeated,  and 
assuredly  can  never  forget. 

Phyllis  told  me  the  story  with  her  own  lips.  She 
was  then  an  old  lady  of  seventy-five,  and  her  auditor 
a  lad  of  fifteen.  She  enjoined  silence  as  to  her  share 
in  the  incident,  till  she  should  be  '  dead,  buried,  and 
forgotten.'  Her  life  was  prolonged  twelve  years  after 
the  day  of  her  narration,  and  she  has  now  been  dead 
nearly  twenty.  The  oblivion  which  in  her  modesty 
and  humility  she  courted  for  herself  has  only  partially 
fallen  on  her,  with  the  unfortunate  result  of  inflicting 
an  injustice  upon  her  memory  ;  since  such  fragments 
of  her  story  as  got  abroad  at  the  time,  and  have  been 
kept  alive  ever  since,  are  precisely  those  which  are 
most  unfavourable  to  her  character. 

It  all  began  with  the  arrival  of  the  York  Hussars, 
one  of  the  foreign  regiments  above  alluded  to.  Before 
that  day  scarcely  a  soul  had  been  seen  near  her  father's 
house  for  weeks.  When  a  noise  like  the  brushing 
skirt  of  a  visitor  was  heard  on  the  doorstep,  it  proved 
to  be  a  scudding  leaf;  when  a  carriage  seemed  to  be 
nearing  the  door,  it  was  her  father  grinding  his  sickle 
on  the  stone  in  the  garden  for  his  favourite  relaxation 
of  trimming  the  box-tree  borders  to  the  plots.  A 
sound  like  luggage  thrown  down  from  the  coach  was 
a  gun  far  away  at  sea ;  and  what  looked  like  a  tall 
man  by  the  gate  at  dusk  was  a  yew  bush  cut  into 
a  quaint  and  attenuated  shape.  There  is  no  such 

46 


THE  MELANCHOLY  HUSSAR 

solitude  in  country  places  now  as  there  was  in  those 
old  days. 

Yet  all  the  while  King  George  and  his  court  were 
at  his  favourite  sea-side  resort,  not  more  than  five 
miles  off. 

The  daughter's  seclusion  was  great,  but  beyond 
the  seclusion  of  the  girl  lay  the  seclusion  of  the  father. 
If  her  social  condition  was  twilight,  his  was  darkness. 
Yet  he  enjoyed  his  darkness,  while  her  twilight 
oppressed  her.  Dr.  Grove  had  been  a  professional 
man  whose  taste  for  lonely  meditation  over  meta- 
physical questions  had  diminished  his  practice  till  it 
no  longer  paid  him  to  keep  it  going ;  after  which  he- 
had  relinquished  it  and  hired  at  a  nominal  rent  the 
small,  dilapidated,  half  farm  half  manor-house  of  this 
obscure  inland  nook,  to  make  a  sufficiency  of  an 
income  which  in  a  town  would  have  been  inadequate 
for  their  maintenance.  He  stayed  in  his  garden  the 
greater  part  of  the  day,  growing  more  and  more 
irritable  with  the  lapse  of  time,  and  the  increasing 
perception  that  he  had  wasted  his  life  in  the  pursuit 
of  illusions.  He  saw  his  friends  less  and  less 
frequently.  Phyllis  became  so  shy  that  if  she  met 
a  stranger  anywhere  in  her  short  rambles  she  felt 
ashamed  at  his  gaze,  walked  awkwardly,  and  blushed 
to  her  shoulders. 

Yet  Phyllis  was  discovered  even  here  by  an 
admirer,  and  her  hand  most  unexpectedly  asked  in 
marriage. 

The  King,  as  aforesaid,  was  at  the  neighbouring 
town,  where  he  had  taken  up  his  abode  at  Gloucester 
Lodge  ;  and  his  presence  in  the  town  naturally  brought 
many  county  people  thither.  Among  these  idlers — 
many  of  whom  professed  to  have  connections  and 
interests  with  the  Court — was  one  Humphrey  Gould, 
a  bachelor  ;  a  personage  neither  young  nor  old  ;  neither 
good-looking  nor  positively  plain.  Too  steady-going 
to  be  'a  buck  '  (as  fast  and  unmarried  men  were  then 
called),  he  was  an  approximately  fashionable  man  of 

47 


WESSEX  TALES 

a  mild  type.  This  bachelor  of  thirty  found  his  way 
to  the  village  on  the  down  :  beheld  Phyllis  ;  made  her 
father's  acquaintance  in  order  to  make  hers ;  and  by 
some  means  or  other  she  sufficiently  inflamed  his 
heart  to  lead  him  in  that  direction  almost  daily ;  till 
he  became  engaged  to  marry  her. 

As  he  was  of  an  old  local  family,  some  of  whose 
members  were  held  in  respect  in  the  county,  Phyllis, 
in  bringing  him  to  her  feet,  had  accomplished  what 
was  considered  a  brilliant  move  for  one  in  her  con- 
strained position.  How  she  had  done  it  was  not 
quite  known  to  Phyllis  herself.  In  those  days  un- 
equal marriages  were  regarded  rather  as  a  violation 
of  the  laws  of  nature  than  as  a  mere  infringement  of 
convention,  the  more  modern  view,  and  hence  when 
Phyllis,  of  the  watering-place  bourgeoisie,  was  chosen 
by  such  a  gentlemanly  fellow,  it  was  as  if  she  were 
going  to  be  taken  to  heaven,  though  perhaps  the 
uninformed  would  have  seen  no  great  difference  in 
the  respective  positions  of  the  pair,  the  said  Gould 
being  as  poor  as  a  crow. 

This  pecuniary  condition  was  his  excuse — probably 
a  true  one — for  postponing  their  union,  and  as  the 
winter  drew  nearer,  and  the  King  departed  for  the 
season,  Mr.  Humphrey  Gould  set  out  for  Bath, 
promising  to  return  to  Phyllis  in  a  few  weeks.  The 
winter  arrived,  the  date  of  his  promise  passed,  yet 
Gould  postponed  his  coming,  on  the  ground  that  he 
could  not  very  easily  leave  his  father  in  the  city  of 
their  sojourn,  the  elder  having  no  other  relative  near 
him.  Phyllis,  though  lonely  in  the  extreme,  was 
content.  The  man  who  had  asked  her  in  marriage 
was  a  desirable  husband  for  her  in  many  ways  ;  her 
father  highly  approved  of  his  suit ;  but  this  neglect 
of  her  was  awkward,  if  not  painful,  for  Phyllis.  Love 
him  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word  she  assured  me  she 
never  did,  but  she  had  a  genuine  regard  for  him  ; 
admired  a  certain  methodical  and  dogged  way  in 
which  he  sometimes  took  his  pleasure ;  valued  his 

48 


BINCOMBE    VILLAGE 


Bincombe  Village,  near  Weymouth,  is  where 
Phyllis  Grove  is  supposed  to  have  lived. 

Bincombe  Down,  upon  which  the  York  Hus- 
sars with  other  regiments  had  come  to  encamp, 
was  visible  from  Phyllis'  window,  and  overlooked 
one  of  the  most  extensive  panoramas  in  the  whole 
of  the  Wessex  Country — 'commanding  the  Isle 
of  Portland  in  front,  and  reaching  to  St.  Aid- 
helm's  Head  eastward,  and  almost  to  the  Start 
on  the  west.' 


7    iKsn    ,35 
rl  oJ  bsaoqq. 

•o7  sril  rfoidw   noqij   ,11  we' 
o}  omoo  bcri  ainsmlgsi  isriJ*1 

bnB  ,wobnrw  'aiflvrN  mml  skfi- 
olodv/  siii  ni  afimBionsq  ovhenaj- 
^Lil  srfl  snibn£mfnoo'-  vi^nuoO 
-blA   J8  oi  gnirioBQi  bnt  'JTO*I--'ip 

bm:  •  .  .•'  -    '  ''  ' 

•  »  . 

no 


fat! 


many  w 


d    w«x 


THE  MELANCHOLY  HUSSAR 

knowledge  of  what  the  Court  was  doing,  had  done, 
or  was  about  to  do ;  and  she  was  not  without  a  feeling 
of  pride  that  he  had  chosen  her  when  he  might  have 
exercised  a  more  ambitious  choice. 

But  he  did  not  come  ;  and  the  spring  developed. 
His  letters  were  regular  though  formal  ;  and  it  is  not 
to  be  wondered  that  the  uncertainty  of  her  position, 
linked  with  the  fact  that  there  was  not  much  passion 
in  her  thoughts  of  Humphrey,  bred  an  indescribable 
dreariness  in  the  heart  of  Phyllis  Grove.  The  spring 
was  soon  summer,  and  the  summer  brought  the  King  ; 
but  still  no  Humphrey  Gould.  All  this  while  the 
engagement  by  letter  was  maintained  intact. 

At  this  point  of  time  a  golden  radiance  flashed  in 
upon  the  lives  of  people  here,  and  charged  all  youthful 
thought  with  emotional  interest.  This  radiance  was 
the  aforesaid  York  Hussars. 


II 

The  present  generation  has  probably  but  a  very 
dim  notion  of  the  celebrated  York  Hussars  of  ninety 
years  ago.  They  were  one  of  the  regiments  of  the 
King's  German  Legion,  and  (though  they  somewhat 
degenerated  later  on)  their  brilliant  uniform,  their 
splendid  horses,  and  above  all,  their  foreign  air  and 
mustachios  (rare  appendages  then),  drew  crowds  of 
admirers  of  both  sexes  wherever  they  went.  These 
with  other  regiments  had  come  to  encamp  on  the 
downs  and  pastures,  because  of  the  presence  of  the 
King  in  the  neighbouring  town. 

The  spot  was  high  and  airy,  and  the  view  extensive, 
commanding  Portland — the  Isle  of  Slingers — in  front, 
and  reaching  to  St.  Aldhelm's  Head  eastward,  and 
almost  to  the  Start  on  the  west. 

Phyllis,  though  not  precisely  a  girl  of  the  village, 
was  as  interested  as  any  of  them  in  this  military 
investment.  Her  father's  home  stood  somewhat 

49 


WESSEX  TALES 

apart,  and  on  the  highest  point  of  ground  to  which 
the  lane  ascended,  so  that  it  was  almost  level  with  the 
top  of  the  church  tower  in  the  lower  part  of  the  parish. 
Immediately  from  the  outside  of  the  garden- wall  the 
grass  spread  away  to  a  great  distance,  and  it  was 
crossed  by  a  path  which  came  close  to  the  wall.  Ever 
since  her  childhood  it  had  been  Phyllis's  pleasure  to 
clamber  up  this  fence  and  sit  on  the  top — a  feat  not 
so  difficult  as  it  may  seem,  the  walls  in  this  district 
being  built  of  rubble,  without  mortar,  so  that  there 
were  plenty  of  crevices  for  small  toes. 

She  was  sitting  up  here  one  day,  listlessly  survey- 
ing the  pasture  without,  when  her  attention  was 
arrested  by  a  solitary  figure  walking  along  the  path. 
It  was  one  of  the  renowned  German  Hussars,  and  he 
moved  onward  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  and  with 
the  manner  of  one  who  wished  to  escape  company. 
His  head  would  probably  have  been  bent  like  his  eyes 
but  for  his  stiff  neck-gear.  On  nearer  view  she  per- 
ceived that  his  face  was  marked  with  deep  sadness. 
Without  observing  her,  he  advanced  by  the  footpath 
till  it  brought  him  almost  immediately  under  the  wall. 

Phyllis  was  much  surprised  to  see  a  fine,  tall 
soldier  in  such  a  mood  as  this.  Her  theory  of  the 
military,  and  of  the  York  Hussars  in  particular 
(derived  entirely  from  hearsay,  for  she  had  never 
talked  to  a  soldier  in  her  life),  was  that  their  hearts 
were  as  gay  as  their  accoutrements. 

At  this  moment  the  Hussar  lifted  his  eyes  and 
noticed  her  on  her  perch,  the  white  muslin  neckerchief 
which  covered  her  shoulders  and  neck  where  left  bare 
by  her  low  gown,  and  her  white  raiment  in  general, 
snowing  conspicuously  in  the  bright  sunlight  of  this 
summer  day.  He  blushed  a  little  at  the  suddenness 
of  the  encounter,  and  without  halting  a  moment  from 
his  pace  passed  on. 

All  that  day  the  foreigner's  face  haunted  Phyllis ; 
its  aspect  was  so  striking,  so  handsome,  and  his  eyes 
were  so  blue,  and  sad,  and  abstracted.  It  was  per- 

50 


THE  MELANCHOLY  HUSSAR 

haps  only  natural  that  on  some  following1  day  at  the 
same  hour  she  should  look  over  that  wall  again,  and 
wait  till  he  had  passed  a  second  time.  On  this 
occasion  he  was  reading  a  letter,  and  at  the  sight  of 
her  his  manner  was  that  of  one  who  had  half  expected 
or  hoped  to  discover  her.  He  almost  stopped,  smiled, 
and  made  a  courteous  salute.  The  end  of  the  meeting 
was  that  they  exchanged  a  few  words.  She  asked 
him  what  he  was  reading,  and  he  readily  informed  her 
that  he  was  re-perusing  letters  from  his  mother  in 
Germany ;  he  did  not  get  them  often,  he  said,  and 
was  forced  to  read  the  old  ones  a  great  many  times. 
This  was  all  that  passed  at  the  present  interview,  but 
others  of  the  same  kind  followed. 

Phyllis  used  to  say  that  his  English,  though  not 
good,  was  quite  intelligible  to  her,  so  that  their 
acquaintance  was  never  hindered  by  difficulties  of 
speech.  Whenever  the  subject  became  too  delicate, 
subtle,  or  tender,  for  such  words  of  English  as  were 
at  his  command,  the  eyes  no  doubt  helped  out  the 
tongue,  and  —  though  this  was  later  on  —  the  lips 
helped  out  the  eyes.  In  short  this  acquaintance, 
unguardedly  made,  and  rash  enough  on  her  part, 
developed  and  ripened.  Like  Desdemona,  she  pitied 
him,  and  learnt  his  history. 

His  name  was  Matthaus  Tina,  and  Saarbriick  his 
native  town,  where  his  mother  was  still  living.  His 
age  was  twenty-two,  and  he  had  already  risen  to  the 
grade  of  corporal,  though  he  had  not  long  been  in  the 
army.  Phyllis  used  to  assert  that  no  such  refined  or 
well-educated  young  man  could  have  been  found  in  the 
ranks  of  the  purely  English  regiments,  some  of  these 
foreign  soldiers  having  rather  the  graceful  manner  and 
presence  of  our  native  officers  than  of  our  rank  and  file. 

She  by  degrees  learnt  from  her  foreign  friend  a 
circumstance  about  himself  and  his  comrades  which 
Phyllis  would  least  have  expected  of  the  York 
Hussars.  So  far  from  being  as  gay  as  its  uniform, 
the  regiment  was  pervaded  by  a  dreadful  melancholy, 

Si 


WESSEX  TALES 

a  chronic  home-sickness,  which  depressed  many  of  the 
men  to  such  an  extent  that  they  could  hardly  attend 
to  their  drill.  The  worst  sufferers  were  the  younger 
soldiers  who  had  not  been  over  here  long.  They 
hated  England  and  English  life  ;  they  took  no  interest 
whatever  in  King  George  and  his  island  kingdom, 
and  they  only  wished  to  be  out  of  it  and  never  to  see 
it  any  more.  Their  bodies  were  here,  but  their  hearts 
and  minds  were  always  far  away  in  their  dear  father- 
land, of  which — brave  men  and  stoical  as  they  were 
in  many  ways — they  would  speak  with  tears  in  their 
eyes.  One  of  the  worst  of  the  sufferers  from  this 
home-woe,  as  he  called  it  in  his  own  tongue,  was 
Matthaus  Tina,  whose  dreamy  musing  nature  felt  the 
gloom  of  exile  still  more  intensely  from  the  fact  that 
he  had  left  a  lonely  mother  at  home  with  nobody  to 
cheer  her. 

Though  Phyllis,  touched  by  all  this,  and  interested 
in  his  history,  did  not  disdain  her  soldier's  acquaint- 
ance, she  declined  (according  to  her  own  account,  at 
least)  to  permit  the  young  man  to  overstep  the  line  of 
mere  friendship  for  a  long  while — as  long,  indeed,  as 
she  considered  herself  likely  to  become  the  possession 
of  another ;  though  it  is  probable  that  she  had  lost  her 
heart  to  Matthaus  before  she  was  herself  aware.  The 
stone  wall  of  necessity  made  anything  like  intimacy 
difficult ;  and  he  had  never  ventured  to  come,  or  to 
ask  to  come,  inside  the  garden,  so  that  all  their 
conversation  had  been  overtly  conducted  across  this 
boundary. 

Ill 

But  news  reached  the  village  from  a  friend  of 
Phyllis's  father  concerning  Mr.  Humphrey  Gould, 
her  remarkably  cool  and  patient  betrothed.  This 
gentleman  had  been  heard  to  say  in  Bath  that  he 
considered  his  overtures  to  Miss  Phyllis  Grove  to 
have  reached  only  the  stage  of  a  half-understanding ; 

52 


THE  MELANCHOLY  HUSSAR 

and  in  view  of  his  enforced  absence  on  his  father's 
account,  who  was  too  great  an  invalid  now  to  attend 
to  his  affairs,  he  thought  it  best  that  there  should  be 
no  definite  promise  as  yet  on  either  side.  He  was 
not  sure,  indeed,  that  he  might  not  cast  his  eyes 
elsewhere. 

This  account — though  only  a  piece  of  hearsay, 
and  as  such  entitled  to  no  absolute  credit — tallied  so 
well  with  the  infrequency  of  his  letters  and  their  lack 
of  warmth,  that  Phyllis  did  not  doubt  its  truth  for  one 
moment ;  and  from  that  hour  she  felt  herself  free  to 
bestow  her  heart  as  she  should  choose.  Not  so  her 
father;  he  declared  the  whole  story  to  be  a  fabrication. 
He  had  known  Mr.  Gould's  family  from  his  boyhood  ; 
and  if  there  was  one  proverb  which  expressed  the 
matrimonial  aspect  of  that  family  well,  it  was  '  Love 
me  little,  love  me  long.'  Humphrey  was  an  honour- 
able man,  who  would  not  think  of  treating  his 
engagement  so  lightly.  '  Do  you  wait  in  patience,' 
he  said  ;  'all  will  be  right  enough  in  time.' 

From  these  words  Phyllis  at  first  imagined  that 
her  father  was  in  correspondence  with  Mr.  Gould ; 
and  her  heart  sank  within  her ;  for  in  spite  of  her 
original  intentions  she  had  been  relieved  to  hear 
that  her  engagement  had  come  to  nothing.  But  she 
presently  learnt  that  her  father  had  heard  no  more  of 
Humphrey  Gould  than  she  herself  had  done ;  while 
he  would  not  write  and  address  her  affianced  directly 
on  the  subject,  lest  it  should  be  deemed  an  imputation 
on  that  bachelor's  honour. 

'You  want  an  excuse  for  encouraging  one  or 
other  of  those  foreign  fellows  to  flatter  you  with  his 
unmeaning  attentions,'  her  father  exclaimed,  his  mood 
having  of  late  been  a  very  unkind  one  towards  her. 
'  I  see  more  than  I  say.  Don't  you  ever  set  foot 
outside  that  garden-fence  without  my  permission.  If 
you  want  to  see  the  camp  I'll  take  you  myself  some 
Sunday  afternoon.' 

Phyllis  had  not  the  smallest  intention  of  disobeying 

53 


WESSEX  TALES 

him  in  her  actions,  but  she  assumed  herself  to  be 
independent  with  respect  to  her  feelings.  She  no 
longer  checked  her  fancy  for  the  Hussar,  though  she 
was  far  from  regarding  him  as  her  lover  in  the  serious 
sense  in  which  an  Englishman  might  have  been 
regarded  as  such.  The  young  foreign  soldier  was 
almost  an  ideal  being  to  her,  with  none  of  the 
appurtenances  of  an  ordinary  house-dweller  ;  one  who 
had  descended  she  knew  not  whence,  and  would  dis- 
appear she  knew  not  whither ;  the  subject  of  a 
fascinating  dream — no  more. 

They  met  continually  now  —  mostly  at  dusk  — 
during  the  brief  interval  between  the  going  down  of 
the  sun  and  the  minute  at  which  the  last  trumpet-call 
summoned  him  to  his  tent.  Perhaps  her  manner  had 
become  less  restrained  latterly  ;  at  any  rate  that  of 
the  Hussar  was  so  ;  he  had  grown  more  tender  every 
day,  and  at  parting  after  these  hurried  interviews  she 
reached  down  her  hand  from  the  top  of  the  wall  that 
he  might  press  it.  One  evening  he  held  it  such  a 
while  that  she  exclaimed,  '  The  wall  is  white,  and 
somebody  in  the  field  may  see  your  shape  against  it ! ' 

He  lingered  so  long  that  night  that  it  was  with 
the  greatest  difficulty  that  he  could  run  across  the 
intervening  stretch  of  ground  and  enter  the  camp 
in  time.  On  the  next  occasion  of  his  awaiting  her 
she  did  not  appear  in  her  usual  place  at  the  usual 
hour.  His  disappointment  was  unspeakably  keen  ;  he 
remained  staring  blankly  at  the  spot,  like  a  man  in  a 
trance.  The  trumpets  and  tattoo  sounded,  and  still 
he  did  not  go. 

She  had  been  delayed  purely  by  an  accident. 
When  she  arrived  she  was  anxious  because  of  the 
lateness  of  the  hour,  having  heard  as  well  as  he  the 
sounds  denoting  the  closing  of  the  camp.  She 
implored  him  to  leave  immediately. 

'No,'  he  said  gloomily.  'I  shall  not  go  in  yet — 
the  moment  you  come  —  I  have  thought  of  your 
coming  all  day.' 

54 


THE  MELANCHOLY  HUSSAR 

'  But  you  may  be  disgraced  at  being  after  time  ? ' 

'  I  don't  mind  that.  I  should  have  disappeared 
from  the  world  some  time  ago  if  it  had  not  been  for 
two  persons — my  beloved,  here,  and  my  mother  in 
Saarbriick.  I  hate  the  army.  I  care  more  for  a 
minute  of  your  company  than  for  all  the  promotion  in 
the  world.' 

Thus  he  stayed  and  talked  to  her,  and  told  her 
interesting  details  of  his  native  place,  and  incidents  of 
his  childhood,  till  she  was  in  a  simmer  of  distress  at 
his  recklessness  in  remaining.  It  was  only  because 
she  insisted  on  bidding  him  good-night  and  leaving 
the  wall  that  he  returned  to  his  quarters. 

The  next  time  that  she  saw  him  he  was  without 
the  stripes  that  had  adorned  his  sleeve.  He  had 
been  broken  to  the  level  of  private  for  his  lateness 
that  night ;  and  as  Phyllis  considered  herself  to  be 
the  cause  of  his  disgrace  her  sorrow  was  great.  But 
the  position  was  now  reversed  ;  it  was  his  turn  to 
cheer  her. 

'  Don't  grieve,  meine  Liebliche ! '  he  said.  '  I 
have  got  a  remedy  for  whatever  comes.  First,  even 
supposing  I  regain  my  stripes,  would  your  father 
allow  you  to  marry  a  non-commissioned  officer  in  the 
York  Hussars  ?' 

She  flushed.  This  practical  step  had  not  been  in 
her  mind  in  relation  to  such  an  unrealistic  person  as 
he  was  ;  and  a  moment's  reflection  was  enough  for  it. 
4  My  father  would  not  —  certainly  would  not,'  she 
answered  unflinchingly.  'It  cannot  be  thought  of! 
My  dear  friend,  please  do  forget  me :  I  fear  I  am 
ruining  you  and  your  prospects  ! ' 

'  Not  at  all ! '  said  he.  '  You  are  giving  this 
country  of  yours  just  sufficient  interest  to  me  to  make 
me  care  to  keep  alive  in  it.  If  my  dear  land  were 
here  also,  and  my  old  parent,  with  you,  I  could  be 
happy  as  I  am,  and  would  do  my  best  as  a  soldier. 
But  it  is  not  so.  And  now  listen.  This  is  my  plan. 
That  you  go  with  me  to  my  own  country,  and  be  my 

55 


WESSEX  TALES 

wife  there,  and  live  there  with  my  mother  and  me. 
I  am  not  a  Hanoverian,  as  you  know,  though  I 
entered  the  army  as  such  ;  my  country  is  by  the  Saar, 
and  is  at  peace  with  France,  and  if  I  were  once  in  it 
I  should  be  free.' 

'But  how  get  there?'  she  asked.  Phyllis  had 
been  rather  amazed  than  shocked  at  his  proposition. 
Her  position  in  her  father's  house  was  growing 
irksome  and  painful  in  the  extreme ;  his  parental 
affection  seemed  to  be  quite  dried  up.  She  was  not 
a  native  of  the  village,  like  all  the  joyous  girls  around 
her ;  and  in  some  way  Matthaus  Tina  had  infected 
her  with  his  own  passionate  longing  for  his  country, 
and  mother,  and  home. 

'  But  how  ? '  she  repeated,  finding  that  he  did  not 
answer.  '  Will  you  buy  your  discharge  ?  ' 

'  Ah,  no,'  he  said.  '  That's  impossible  in  these 
times.  No ;  I  came  here  against  my  will ;  why 
should  I  not  escape  ?  Now  is  the  time,  as  we  shall 
soon  be  striking  camp,  and  I  might  see  you  no  more. 
This  is  my  scheme.  I  will  ask  you  to  meet  me  on 
the  highway  two  miles  off,  on  some  calm  night  next 
week  that  may  be  appointed.  There  will  be  nothing 
unbecoming  in  it,  or  to  cause  you  shame ;  you  will 
not  fly  alone  with  me,  for  I  will  bring  with  me  my 
devoted  young  friend  Christoph,  an  Alsatian,  who  has 
lately  joined  the  regiment,  and  who  has  agreed  to 
assist  in  this  enterprise.  We  shall  have  come  from 
yonder  harbour,  where  we  shall  have  examined  the 
boats,  and  found  one  suited  to  our  purpose.  Christoph 
has  already  a  chart  of  the  Channel,  and  we  will  then 
go  to  the  harbour,  and  at  midnight  cut  the  boat  from 
her  moorings,  and  row  away  round  the  point  out  of 
sight ;  and  by  the  next  morning  we  are  on  the  coast 
of  France,  near  Cherbourg.  The  rest  is  easy,  for  I 
have  saved  money  for  the  land  journey,  and  can  get  a 
change  of  clothes.  I  will  write  to  my  mother,  who 
will  meet  us  on  the  way.' 

He  added  details  in  reply  to  her  inquiries,  which 

' 


THE  MELANCHOLY  HUSSAR 

left  no  doubt  in  Phyllis's  mind  of  the  feasibility  of  the 
undertaking.  But  its  magnitude  almost  appalled  her  ; 
and  it  is  questionable  if  she  would  ever  have  gone 
further  in  the  wild  adventure  if,  on  entering  the  house 
that  night,  her  father  had  not  accosted  her  in  the 
most  significant  terms. 

'  How  about  the  York  Hussars?'  he  said. 

1  They  are  still  at  the  camp  ;  but  they  are  soon 
going  away,  I  believe.' 

'  It  is  useless  for  you  to  attempt  to  cloak  your 
actions  in  that  way.  You  have  been  meeting  one  of 
those  fellows;  you  have  been  seen  walking  with  him — 
foreign  barbarians,  not  much  better  than  the  French 
themselves !  I  have  made  up  my  mind — don't  speak 
a  word  till  I  have  done,  please ! — I  have  made  up  my 
mind  that  you  shall  stay  here  no  longer  while  they 
are  on  the  spot.  You  shall  go  to  your  aunt's.' 

It  was  useless  for  her  to  protest  that  she  had  never 
taken  a  walk  with  any  soldier  or  man  under  the  sun 
except  himself.  Her  protestations  were  feeble,  too, 
for  though  he  was  not  literally  correct  in  his  assertion, 
he  was  virtually  only  half  in  error. 

The  house  of  her  father's  sister  was  a  prison  to 
Phyllis.  She  had  quite  recently  undergone  experience 
of  its  gloom ;  and  when  her  father  went  on  to  direct 
her  to  pack  what  would  be  necessary  for  her  to  take, 
her  heart  died  within  her.  In  after  years  she  never 
attempted  to  excuse  her  conduct  during  this  week  of 
agitation  ;  but  the  result  of  her  self-communing  was 
that  she  decided  to  join  in  the  scheme  of  her  lover  and 
his  friend,  and  fly  to  the  country  which  he  had  coloured 
with  such  lovely  hues  in  her  imagination.  She  always 
said  that  the  one  feature  in  his  proposal  which  overcame 
her  hesitation  was  the  obvious  purity  and  straight- 
forwardness of  his  intentions.  He  showed  himself  to 
be  so  virtuous  and  kind  ;  he  treated  her  with  a  respect 
to  which  she  had  never  before  been  accustomed ;  and 
she  was  braced  to  the  obvious  risks  of  the  voyage  by 
her  confidence  in  him. 

57 


IV 

It  was  on  a  soft,  dark  evening  of  the  following  week 
that  they  engaged  in  the  adventure.  Tina  was  to  meet 
her  at  a  point  in  the  highway  at  which  the  lane  to  the 
village  branched  off.  Christoph  was  to  go  ahead  of 
them  to  the  harbour  where  the  boat  lay,  row  it  round 
the  Nothe — or  Look-out  as  it  was  called  in  those  days 
— and  pick  them  up  on  the  other  side  of  the  promontory, 
which  they  were  to  reach  by  crossing  the  harbour- 
bridge  on  foot,  and  climbing  over  the  Look-out  hill. 

As  soon  as  her  father  had  ascended  to  his  room  she 
left  the  house,  and,  bundle  in  hand,  proceeded  at  a  trot 
along  the  lane.  At  such  an  hour  not  a  soul  was  afoot 
anywhere  in  the  village,  and  she  reached  the  junction 
of  the  lane  with  the  highway  unobserved.  Here  she 
took  up  her  position  in  the  obscurity  formed  by  the 
angle  of  a  fence,  whence  she  could  discern  every  one 
who  approached  along  the  turnpike-road,  without  being 
herself  seen. 

She  had  not  remained  thus  waiting  for  her  lover 
longer  than  a  minute — though  from  the  tension  of  her 
nerves  the  lapse  of  even  that  short  time  was  trying — 
when,  instead  of  the  expected  footsteps,  the  stage-coach 
could  be  heard  descending  the  hill.  She  knew  that 
Tina  would  not  show  himself  till  the  road  was  clear, 
and  waited  impatiently  for  the  coach  to  pass.  Nearing 
the  corner  where  she  was  it  slackened  speed,  and, 
instead  of  going  by  as  usual,  drew  up  within  a  few 
yards  of  her.  A  passenger  alighted,  and  she  heard  his 
voice.  It  was  Humphrey  Gould's. 

He  had  brought  a  friend  with  him,  and  luggage. 
The  luggage  was  deposited  on  the  grass,  and  the  coach 
went  on  its  route  to  the  royal  watering-place. 

4 1  wonder  where  that  young  man  is  with  the  horse 
and  trap  ?'  said  her  former  admirer  to  his  companion. 
1  I  hope  we  shan't  have  to  wait  here  long.  I  told  him 
half-past  nine  o'clock  precisely.' 

58 


THE  MELANCHOLY  HUSSAR 

'  Have  you  got  her  present  safe  ?  ' 

*  Phyllis's  ?  O,  yes.  It  is  in  this  trunk.  I  hope 
it  will  please  her.' 

4  Of  course  it  will.  What  woman  would  not  be 
pleased  with  such  a  handsome  peace-offering  ? ' 

'Well — she  deserves  it.  I've  treated  her  rather 
badly.  But  she  has  been  in  my  mind  these  last  two 
days  much  more  than  I  should  care  to  confess  to  every- 
body. Ah,  well;  I'll  say  no  more  about  that.  It 
cannot  be  that  she  is  so  bad  as  they  make  out.  I 
am  quite  sure  that  a  girl  of  her  good  wit  would 
know  better  than  to  get  entangled  with  any  of  those 
Hanoverian  soldiers.  I  won't  believe  it  of  her,  and 
there's  an  end  on't.' 

More  words  in  the  same  strain  were  casually 
dropped  as  the  two  men  waited  ;  words  which  revealed 
to  her,  as  by  a  sudden  illumination,  the  enormity  of 
her  conduct.  The  conversation  was  at  length  cut  off 
by  the  arrival  of  the  man  with  the  vehicle.  The 
luggage  was  placed  in  it,  and  they  mounted,  and  were 
driven  on  in  the  direction  from  which  she  had  just 
come. 

Phyllis  was  so  conscious-stricken  that  she  was  at 
first  inclined  to  follow  them  ;  but  a  moment's  reflection 
led  her  to  feel  that  it  would  only  be  bare  justice  to 
Matthaus  to  wait  till  he  arrived,  and  explain  candidly 
that  she  had  changed  her  mind — difficult  as  the  struggle 
would  be  when  she  stood  face  to  face  with  him.  She 
bitterly  reproached  herself  for  having  believed  reports 
which  represented  Humphrey  Gould  as  false  to  his 
engagement,  when,  from  what  she  now  heard  from  his 
own  lips,  she  gathered  that  he  had  been  living  full  of 
trust  in  her.  But  she  knew  well  enough  who  had  won 
her  love.  Without  him  her  life  seemed  a  dreary 
prospect,  yet  the  more  she  looked  at  his  proposal  the 
more  she  feared  to  accept  it — so  wild  as  it  was,  so 
vague,  so  venturesome.  She  had  promised  Humphrey 
Gould,  and  it  was  only  his  assumed  faithlessness  which 
had  led  her  to  treat  that  promise  as  nought.  His 

59 


WESSEX  TALES 

solicitude  in  bringing  her  these  gifts  touched  her  ;  her 
promise  must  be  kept,  and  esteem  must  take  the  place 
of  love.  She  would  preserve  her  self-respect.  She 
would  stay  at  home,  and  marry  him,  and  suffer. 

Phyllis  had  thus  braced  herself  to  an  exceptional 
fortitude  when,  a  few  minutes  later,  the  outline  of 
Matthaus  Tina  appeared  behind  a  field-gate,  over  which 
he  lightly  leapt  as  she  stepped  forward.  There  was  no 
evading  it,  he  pressed  her  to  his  breast. 

1  It  is  the  first  and  last  time!'  she  wildly  thought 
as  she  stood  encircled  by  his  arms. 

How  Phyllis  got  through  the  terrible  ordeal  of  that 
night  she  could  never  clearly  recollect.  She  always 
attributed  her  success  in  carrying  out  her  resolve  to 
her  lover's  honour,  for  as  soon  as  she  declared  to  him 
in  feeble  words  that  she  had  changed  her  mind,  and 
felt  that  she  could  not,  dared  not,  fly  with  him, 
he  forbore  to  urge  her,  grieved  as  he  was  at  her 
decision.  Unscrupulous  pressure  on  his  part,  seeing 
how  romantically  she  had  become  attached  to  him, 
would  no  doubt  have  turned  the  balance  in  his  favour. 
But  he  did  nothing  to  tempt  her  unduly  or  unfairly. 

On  her  side,  fearing  for  his  safety,  she  begged  him 
to  remain.  This,  he  declared,  could  not  be.  '  I 
cannot  break  faith  with  my  friend,'  said  he.  Had  he 
stood  alone  he  would  have  abandoned  his  plan.  But 
Christoph,  with  the  boat  and  compass  and  chart,  was 
waiting  on  the  shore ;  the  tide  would  soon  turn  ;  his 
mother  had  been  warned  of  his  coming  ;  go  he  must. 

Many  precious  minutes  were  lost  while  he  tarried, 
unable  to  tear  himself  away,  Phyllis  held  to  her 
resolve,  though  it  cost  her  many  a  bitter  pang.  At 
last  they  parted,  and  he  went  down  the  hill.  Before 
his  footsteps  had  quite  died  away  she  felt  a  desire  to 
behold  at  least  his  outline  once  more,  and  running 
noiselessly  after  him  regained  view  of  his  diminishing 
figure.  For  one  moment  she  was  sufficiently  excited 
to  be  on  the  point  of  rushing  forward  and  linking  her 
fate  with  his.  But  she  could  not.  The  courage  which 

60 


THE  MELANCHOLY  HUSSAR 

at  the  critical  instant  failed  Cleopatra  of  Egypt  could 
scarcely  be  expected  of  Phyllis  Grove. 

A  dark  shape,  similar  to  his  own,  joined  him  in  the 
highway.  It  was  Christoph,  his  friend.  She  could 
see  no  more ;  they  had  hastened  on  in  the  direction  of 
the  town  and  harbour,  four  miles  ahead.  With  a 
feeling  akin  to  despair  she  turned  and  slowly  pursued 
her  way  homeward. 

Tattoo  sounded  in  the  camp ;  but  there  was  no 
camp  for  her  now.  It  was  as  dead  as  the  camp  of  the 
Assyrians  after  the  passage  of  the  Destroying  Angel. 

She  noiselessly  entered  the  house,  seeing  nobody, 
and  went  to  bed.  Grief,  which  kept  her  awake  at 
first,  ultimately  wrapped  her  in  a  heavy  sleep.  The 
next  morning  her  father  met  her  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs. 

'  Mr.  Goold  is  come ! '  he  said  triumphantly. 

Humphrey  was  staying  at  the  inn,  and  had  already 
called  to  inquire  for  her.  He  had  brought  her  a 
present  of  a  very  handsome  looking-glass  in  a  frame 
of  repousst  silverwork,  which  her  father  held  in  his 
hand.  He  had  promised  to  call  again  in  the  course  of 
an  hour,  to  ask  Phyllis  to  walk  with  him. 

Pretty  mirrors  were  rarer  in  country-houses  at  that 
day  than  they  are  now,  and  the  one  before  her  won 
Phyllis's  admiration.  She  looked  into  it,  saw  how 
heavy  her  eyes  were,  and  endeavoured  to  brighten 
them.  She  was  in  that  wretched  state  of  mind  which 
leads  a  woman  to  move  mechanically  onward  in  what 
she  conceives  to  be  her  allotted  path.  Mr.  Humphrey 
had,  in  his  undemonstrative  way,  been  adhering  all 
along  to  the  old  understanding ;  it  was  for  her  to  do 
the  same,  and  to  say  not  a  word  of  her  own  lapse. 
She  put  on  her  bonnet  and  tippet,  and  when  he  arrived 
at  the  hour  named  she  was  at  the  door  awaiting  him. 


Phyllis  thanked  him  for  his  beautiful  gift ;  but  the 
talking  was  soon  entirely  on  Humphrey's  side  as  they 
walked  along.  He  told  her  of  the  latest  movements 
of  the  world  of  fashion — a  subject  which  she  willingly 
discussed  to  the  exclusion  of  anything  more  personal — 
and  his  measured  language  helped  to  still  her  disquieted 
heart  and  brain.  Had  not  her  own  sadness  been  what 
it  was  she  must  have  observed  his  embarrassment. 
At  last  he  abruptly  changed  the  subject. 

'  I  am  glad  you  are  pleased  with  my  little  present/ 
he  said.  '  The  truth  is  that  I  brought  it  to  propitiate 
'ee,  and  to  get  you  to  help  me  out  of  a  mighty  difficulty.' 

It  was  inconceivable  to  Phyllis  that  this  independent 
bachelor — whom  she  admired  in  some  respects — could 
have  a  difficulty. 

'  Phyllis — I'll  tell  you  my  secret  at  once ;  for  I 
have  a  monstrous  secret  to  confide  before  I  can  ask 
your  counsel.  The  case  is,  then,  that  I  am  married  : 
yes,  I  have  privately  married  a  dear  young  belle ;  and 
if  you  knew  her,  and  I  hope  you  will,  you  would  say 
everything  in  her  praise.  But  she  is  not  quite  the 
one  that  my  father  would  have  chose  for  me — you 
know  the  paternal  idea  as  well  as  I — and  I  have  kept 
it  secret.  There  will  be  a  terrible  noise,  no  doubt ; 
but  I  think  that  with  your  help  I  may  get  over  it.  If 
you  would  only  do  me  this  good  turn — when  I  have 
told  my  father,  I  mean — say  that  you  never  could 
have  married  me,  you  know,  or  something  of  that 
sort — 'pon  my  life  it  will  help  to  smooth  the  way 
vastly.  I  am  so  anxious  to  win  him  round  to  my 
point  of  view,  and  not  to  cause  any  estrangement.' 

What  Phyllis  replied  she  scarcely  knew,  or  how 
she  counselled  him  as  to  his  unexpected  situation. 
Yet  the  relief  that  his  announcement  brought  her  was 
perceptible.  To  have  confided  her  trouble  in  return 
was  what  her  aching  heart  longed  to  do ;  and  had 

62 


THE  MELANCHOLY  HUSSAR 

Humphrey  been  a  woman  she  would  instantly  have 
poured  out  her  tale.  But  to  him  she  feared  to 
confess ;  and  there  was  a  real  reason  for  silence,  till 
a.  sufficient  time  had  elapsed  to  allow  her  lover  and 
his  comrade  to  get  out  of  harm's  way. 

As  soon  as  she  reached  home  again  she  sought  a 
solitary  place,  and  spent  the  time  in  half  regretting 
that  she  had  not  gone  away,  and  in  dreaming  over  the 
meetings  with  Matthaus  Tina  from  their  beginning  to 
their  end.  In  his  own  country,  amongst  his  own 
countrywomen,  he  would  possibly  soon  forget  her, 
even  to  her  very  name. 

Her  listlessness  was  such  that  she  did  not  go  out  of 
the  house  for  several  days.  There  came  a  morning 
which  broke  in  fog  and  mist,  behind  which  the  dawn 
could  be  discerned  in  greenish  grey ;  and  the  outlines 
of  the  tents,  and  the  rows  of  horses  at  the  ropes. 
The  smoke  from  the  canteen  fires  drooped  heavily. 

The  spot  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden  where  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  climb  the  wall  to  meet 
Matthaus,  was  the  only  inch  of  English  ground  in 
which  she  took  any  interest ;  and  in  spite  of  the 
disagreeable  haze  prevailing  she  walked  out  there  till 
she  reached  the  well-known  corner.  Every  blade  of 
grass  was  weighted  with  little  liquid  globes,  and  slugs 
and  snails  had  crept  out  upon  the  plots.  She  could 
hear  the  usual  faint  noises  from  the  camp,  and  in  the 
other  direction  the  trot  of  farmers  on  the  road  to  the 
town,  for  it  was  market-day.  She  observed  that  her 
frequent  visits  to  this  corner  had  quite  trodden  down 
the  grass  in  the  angle  of  the  wall,  and  left  marks  of 
garden  soil  on  the  stepping-stones  by  which  she  had 
mounted  to  look  over  the  top.  Seldom  having  gone 
there  till  dusk,  she  had  not  considered  that  her  traces 
might  be  visible  by  day.  Perhaps  it  was  these  which 
had  revealed  her  trysts  to  her  father. 

While  she  paused  in  melancholy  regard,  she 
fancied  that  the  customary  sounds  from  the  tents  were 
changing  their  character.  Indifferent  as  Phyllis  was 

63 


WESSEX  TALES 

to  camp  doings  now,  she  mounted  by  the  steps  to  the 
old  place.  What  she  beheld  at  first  awed  and 
perplexed  her ;  then  she  stood  rigid,  her  fingers 
hooked  to  the  wall,  her  eyes  staring  out  of  her  head, 
and  her  face  as  if  hardened  to  stone. 

On  the  open  green  stretching  before  her  all  the 
regiments  in  the  camp  were  drawn  up  in  line,  in  the 
mid- front  of  which  two  empty  coffins  lay  on  the 
ground.  The  unwonted  sounds  which  she  had 
noticed  came  from  an  advancing  procession.  It 
consisted  of  the  band  of  the  York  Hussars  playing  a 
dead  march  ;  next  two  soldiers  of  that  regiment  in  a 
mourning  coach,  guarded  on  each  side,  and  accom- 
panied by  two  priests.  Behind  came  a  crowd  of 
rustics  who  had  been  attracted  by  the  event.  The 
melancholy  procession  marched  along  the  front  of  the 
line,  returned  to  the  centre,  and  halted  beside  the 
coffins,  where  the  two  condemned  men  were  blind- 
folded, and  each  placed  kneeling  on  his  coffin  ;  a  few 
minutes'  pause  was  now  given,  while  they  prayed. 

A  firing-party  of  twenty-four  men  stood  ready 
with  levelled  carbines.  The  commanding  officer,  who 
had  his  sword  drawn,  waved  it  through  some  cuts  of 
the  sword -exercise  till  he  reached  the  downward 
stroke,  whereat  the  firing  party  discharged  their 
volley.  The  two  victims  fell,  one  upon  his  face 
across  his  coffin,  the  other  backwards. 

As  the  volley  resounded  there  arose  a  shriek  from 
the  wall  of  Dr.  Grove's  garden,  and  some  one  fell 
down  inside ;  but  nobody  among  the  spectators 
without  noticed  it  at  the  time.  The  two  executed 
Hussars  were  Matthaus  Tina  and  his  friend  Christoph. 
The  soldiers  on  guard  placed  the  bodies  in  the  coffins 
almost  instantly ;  but  the  colonel  of  the  regiment,  an 
Englishman,  rode  up  and  exclaimed  in  a  stern  voice  : 
'  Turn  them  out — as  an  example  to  the  men  ! ' 

The  coffins  were  lifted  endwise,  and  the  dead 
Germans  flung  out  upon  their  faces  on  the  grass. 
Then  all  the  regiments  wheeled  in  sections,  and 

64 


THE  MELANCHOLY  HUSSAR 

marched  past  the  spot  in  slow  time.  When  the 
survey  was  over  the  corpses  were  again  coffined,  and 
borne  away. 

Meanwhile  Dr.  Grove,  attracted  by  the  noise  of 
the  volley,  had  rushed  out  into  his  garden,  where  he 
saw  his  wretched  daughter  lying  motionless  against 
the  wall.  She  was  taken  indoors,  but  it  was  long 
before  she  recovered  consciousness ;  and  for  weeks 
they  despaired  of  her  reason. 

It  transpired  that  the  luckless  deserters  from  the 
York  Hussars  had  cut  the  boat  from  her  moorings  in 
the  adjacent  harbour,  according  to  their  plan,  and, 
with  two  other  comrades  who  were  smarting  under 
ill-treatment  from  their  colonel,  had  sailed  in  safety 
across  the  Channel.  But  mistaking  their  bearings 
they  steered  into  Jersey,  thinking  that  island  the 
French  coast.  Here  they  were  perceived  to  be 
deserters,  and  delivered  up  to  the  authorities. 
Matthaus  and  Christoph  interceded  for  the  other 
two  at  the  court-martial,  saying  that  it  was  entirely  by 
the  former's  representations  that  these  were  induced 
to  go.  Their  sentence  was  accordingly  commuted  to 
flogging,  the  death  punishment  being  reserved  for 
their  leaders. 

The  visitor  to  the  well  -  known  old  Georgian 
watering  -  place,  who  may  care  to  ramble  to  the 
neighbouring  village  under  the  hills,  and  examine  the 
register  of  burials,  will  there  find  two  entries  in  these 
words  : — 

'  Matth  :  Tina  (Corpl.)  in  His  Majesty's  Regmt.  of  York 
Hussars,  and  Shot  for  Desertion,  was  Buried  June  joth,  i8oi> 
aged  22  years.  Born  in  the  town  of  Sarrbruk,  Germany. 

'  Christoph  Bless,  belonging  to  His  Majesty's  Regmt.  of 
York  Hussars,  who  was  Shot  for  Desertion,  was  Buried  June 
3oth,  1801,  aged  22  years.  Born  at  Lothaargen,  Alsatta.1 

Their  graves  were  dug  at  the  back  of  the  little 
church,  near  the  wall.  There  is  no  memorial  to  mark 
the  spot,  but  Phyllis  pointed  it  out  to  me.  While  she 

65 


WESSEX  TALES 

lived  she  used  to  keep  their  mounds  neat ;  but  now 
they  are  overgrown  with  nettles,  and  sunk  nearly  flat. 
The  older  villagers,  however,  who  know  of  the  episode 
from  their  parents,  still  recollect  the  place  where  the 
soldiers  lie.  Phyllis  lies  near. 

October  1889, 


THE   WITHERED  ARM 


A  LORN  MILKMAID 
I 

IT  was  an  eighty-cow  dairy,  and  the  troop  of  milkers, 
regular  and  supernumerary,  were  all  at  work ;  for, 
though  the  time  of  year  was  as  yet  but  early  April, 
the  feed  lay  entirely  in  water-meadows,  and  the  cows 
were  'in  full  pail.'  The  hour  was  about  six  in  the 
evening,  and  three-fourths  of  the  large,  red,  rectangular 
animals  having  been  finished  off,  there  was  opportunity 
for  a  little  conversation. 

'  He  do  bring  home  his  bride  to-morrow,  I  hear. 
They've  come  as  far  as  Anglebury  to-day.' 

The  voice  seemed  to  proceed  from  the  belly  of  the 
cow  called  Cherry,  but  the  speaker  was  a  milking- 
woman,  whose  face  was  buried  in  the  flank  of  that 
motionless  beast. 

'  Hav'  anybody  seen  her?'  said  another. 

There  was  a  negative  response  from  the  first. 
'  Though  they  say  she's  a  rosy-cheeked,  tisty-tosty  little 
body  enough,'  she  added;  and  as  the  milkmaid  spoke 
she  turned  her  face  so  that  she  could  glance  past  her 
cow's  tail  to  the  other  side  of  the  barton,  where  a  thin, 
fading  woman  of  thirty  milked  somewhat  apart  from 
the  rest. 

'  Years  younger  than  he,  they  say,'  continued  the 
second,  with  also  a  glance  of  reflectiveness  in  the  same 
direction. 

'  How  old  do  you  call  him,  then? ' 

'  Thirty  or  so.' 

69 


WESSEX  TALES 

'  More  like  forty,'  broke  in  an  old  milkman  near, 
in  a  long  white  pinafore  or  '  wropper,'  and  with  the 
brim  of  his  hat  tied  down,  so  that  he  looked  like  a 
woman.  '  'A  was  born  before  our  Great  Weir  was 
builded,  and  I  hadn't  man's  wages  when  I  laved  water 
there.' 

The  discussion  waxed  so  warm  that  the  purr  of  the 
milk  streams  became  jerky,  till  a  voice  from  another 
cow's  belly  cried  with  authority,  '  Now  then,  what  the 
Turk  do  it  matter  to  us  about  Farmer  Lodge's  age,  or 
Farmer  Lodge's  new  mis'ess  ?  I  shall  have  to  pay 
him  nine  pound  a  year  for  the  rent  of  every  one  of 
these  milchers,  whatever  his  age  or  hers.  Get  on  with 
your  work,  or  'twill  be  dark  afore  we  have  done.  The 
evening  is  pinking  in  a'ready.'  This  speaker  was  the 
dairyman  himself,  by  whom  the  milkmaids  and  men 
were  employed. 

Nothing  more  was  said  publicly  about  Farmer 
Lodge's  wedding,  but  the  first  woman  murmured  under 
her  cow  to  her  next  neighbour,  '  'Tis  hard  for  she,' 
signifying  the  thin  worn  milkmaid  aforesaid. 

4  O  no,'  said  the  second.  '  He  ha'n't  spoke  to 
Rhoda  Brook  for  years.' 

When  the  milking  was  done  they  washed  their 
pails  and  hung  them  on  a  many-forked  stand  made  as 
usual  of  the  peeled  limb  of  an  oak-tree,  set  upright  in 
the  earth,  and  resembling  a  colossal  antlered  horn. 
The  majority  then  dispersed  in  various  directions 
homeward.  The  thin  woman  who  had  not  spoken 
was  joined  by  a  boy  of  twelve  or  thereabout,  and  the 
twain  went  away  up  the  field  also. 

Their  course  lay  apart  from  that  of  the  others,  to  a 
lonely  spot  high  above  the  water-meads,  and  not  far 
from  the  border  of  Egdon  Heath,  whose  dark  counte- 
nance was  visible  in  the  distance  as  they  drew  nigh  to 
their  home. 

'  They've  just  been  saying  down  in  barton  that 
your  father  brings  his  young  wife  home  from  Anglebury 
to-morrow,'  the  woman  observed.  '  I  shall  want  to 

70 


THE  WITHERED  ARM 

send  you  for  a  few  things  to  market,  and  you'll  be 
pretty  sure  to  meet  'em.' 

'Yes,  mother,'  said  the  boy.  'Is  father  married 
then?' 

'Yes.  .  .  .  You  can  give  her  a  look,  and  tell  me 
what  she's  like,  if  you  do  see  her.' 

'  Yes,  mother.' 

'  If  she's  dark  or  fair,  and  if  she's  tall — as  tall  as  I. 
And  if  she  seems  like  a  woman  who  has  ever  worked 
for  a  living,  or  one  that  has  been  always  well  off, 
and  has  never  done  anything,  and  shows  marks  of  the 
lady  on  her,  as  I  expect  she  do.' 

'  Yes.' 

They  crept  up  the  hill  in  the  twilight  and  entered 
the  cottage.  It  was  built  of  mud- walls,  the  surface  of 
which  had  been  washed  by  many  rains  into  channels 
and  depressions  that  left  none  of  the  original  flat  face 
visible ;  while  here  and  there  in  the  thatch  above  a 
rafter  showed  like  a  bone  protruding  through  the  skin. 

She  was  kneeling  down  in  the  chimney-corner, 
before  two  pieces  of  turf  laid  together  with  the  heather 
inwards,  blowing  at  the  red-hot  ashes  with  her  breath 
till  the  turves  flamed.  The  radiance  lit  her  pale  cheek, 
and  made  her  dark  eyes,  that  had  once  been  handsome, 
seem  handsome  anew.  '  Yes,'  she  resumed,  '  see  if  she 
is  dark  or  fair,  and  if  you  can,  notice  if  her  hands  be 
white  ;  if  not,  see  if  they  look  as  though  she  had  ever 
done  housework,  or  are  milker's  hands  like  mine.' 

The  boy  a^ain  promised,  inattentively  this  time, 
his  mother  not  observing  that  he  was  cutting  a  notch 
with  his  pocket-knife  in  the  beech-backed  chair. 


THE   YOUNG  WIFE 
II 

THE  road  from  Anglebury  to  Holmstoke  is  in  general 
level  ;  but  there  is  one  place  where  a  sharp  ascent 
breaks  its  monotony.  Farmers  homeward-bound  from 
the  former  market-town,  who  trot  all  the  rest  of  the 
way,  walk  their  horses  up  this  short  incline. 

The  next  evening  while  the  sun  was  yet  bright  a 
handsome  new  gig,  with  a  lemon-coloured  body  and 
red  wheels,  was  spinning  westward  along  the  level 
highway  at  the  heels  of  a  powerful  mare.  The  driver 
was  a  yeoman  in  the  prime  of  life,  cleanly  shaven  like 
an  actor,  his  faced  being  toned  to  that  bluish-vermilion 
hue  which  so  often  graces  a  thriving  farmer's  features 
when  returning  home  after  successful  dealings  in  the 
town.  Beside  him  sat  a  woman,  many  years  his 
junior — almost,  indeed,  a  girl.  Her  face  too  was 
fresh  in  colour,  but  it  was  of  a  totally  different  quality 
— soft  and  evanescent,  like  the  light  under  a  heap  of 
rose-petals. 

Few  people  travelled  this  way,  for  it  was  not  a 
main  road  ;  and  the  long  white  riband  of  gravel  that 
stretched  before  them  was  empty,  save  of  one  small 
scarce-moving  speck,  which  presently  resolved  itself 
into  the  figure  of  a  boy,  who  was  creeping  on  at  a 
snail's  pace,  and  continually  looking  behind  him — the 
heavy  bundle  he  carried  being  some  excuse  for,  if  not 
the  reason  of,  his  dilatoriness.  When  the  bouncing 
gig-party  slowed  at  the  bottom  of  the  incline  above 

72 


THE  WITHERED  ARM 

mentioned,  the  pedestrian  was  only  a  few  yards  in 
front.  Supporting  the  large  bundle  by  putting  one 
hand  on  his  hip,  he  turned  and  looked  straight 
at  the  farmer's  wife  as  though  he  would  read  her 
through  and  through,  pacing  along  abreast  of  the 
horse. 

The  low  sun  was  full  in  her  face,  rendering  every 
feature,  shade,  and  contour  distinct,  from  the  curve  of 
her  little  nostril  to  the  colour  of  her  eyes.  The 
farmer,  though  he  seemed  annoyed  at  the  boy's  per- 
sistent presence,  did  not  order  him  to  get  out  of  the 
way  ;  and  thus  the  lad  preceded  them,  his  hard  gaze 
never  leaving  her,  till  they  reached  the  top  of  the 
ascent,  when  the  farmer  trotted  on  with  relief  in  his 
lineaments — having  taken  no  outward  notice  of  the 
boy  whatever. 

'  How  that  poor  lad  stared  at  me ! '  said  the  young 
wife. 

'Yes,  dear;  I  saw  that  he  did.' 

'  He  is  one  of  the  village,  I  suppose?' 

'  One  of  the  neighbourhood.  I  think  he  lives  with 
his  mother  a  mile  or  two  off.' 

'  He  knows  who  we  are,  no  doubt  ?' 

'  O  yes.  You  must  expect  to  be  stared  at  just  at 
first,  my  pretty  Gertrude.' 

'  I  do, — though  I  think  the  poor  boy  may  have 
looked  at  us  in  the  hope  we  might  relieve  him  of  his 
heavy  load,  rather  than  from  curiosity.' 

'  O  no,'  said  her  husband  off-handedly.  '  These 
country  lads  will  carry  a  hundredweight  once  they  get 
it  on  their  backs ;  besides  his  pack  had  more  size  than 
weight  in  it.  Now,  then,  another  mile  and  I  shall  be 
able  to  show  you  our  house  in  the  distance — if  it  is 
not  too  dark  before  we  get  there.'  The  wheels  spun 
round,  and  particles  flew  from  their  periphery  as  before, 
till  a  white  house  of  ample  dimensions  revealed  itself, 
with  farm-buildings  and  ricks  at  the  back. 

Meanwhile  the  boy  had  quickened  his  pace,  and 
turning  up  a  by-lane  some  mile  and  half  short  of  the 

73 


WESSEX  TALES 

white  farmstead,  ascended  towards  the  leaner  pastures, 
and  so  on  to  the  cottage  of  his  mother. 

She  had  reached  home  after  her  day's  milking  at 
the  outlying  dairy,  and  was  washing  cabbage  at  the 
doorway  in  the  declining  light  '  Hold  up  the  net  a 
moment,'  she  said,  without  preface,  as  the  boy  came 
up. 

He  flung  down  his  bundle,  held  the  edge  of  the 
cabbage-net,  and  as  she  filled  its  meshes  with  the 
dripping  leaves  she  went  on,  '  Well,  did  you  see  her  ? ' 

'Yes ;  quite  plain.' 

'  Is  she  ladylike?' 

'  Yes  ;  and  more.     A  lady  complete.' 

'  Is  she  young  ?  ' 

'Well,  she's  growed  up,  and  her  ways  be  quite  a 
woman's.' 

'  Of  course.     What  colour  is  her  hair  and  face  ?  ' 

'  Her  hair  is  lightish,  and  her  face  as  comely  as  a 
live  doll's.' 

'  Her  eyes,  then,  are  not  dark  like  mine?' 

'  No — of  a  bluish  turn,  and  her  mouth  is  very  nice 
and  red  ;  and  when  she  smiles,  her  teeth  show  white.' 

'  Is  she  tall  ?'  said  the  woman  sharply. 

'  I  couldn't  see.     She  was  sitting  down.' 

*  Then  do  you  go  to  Holmstoke  church  to-morrow 
morning  :  she's  sure  to  be  there.  Go  early  and  notice 
her  walking  in,  and  come  home  and  tell  me  if  she's 
taller  than  I.' 

'Very  well,  mother.  But  why  don't  you  go  and 
see  for  yourself?' 

'  /  go  to  see  her !  I  wouldn't  look  up  at  her  if  she 
were  to  pass  my  window  this  instant.  She  was  with 
Mr.  Lodge,  of  course.  What  did  he  say  or  do  ? ' 

'Just  the  same  as  usual.' 

'  Took  no  notice  of  you  ? ' 

4  None.' 

Next  day  the  mother  put  a  clean  shift  on  the 
boy,  and  started  him  off  for  Holmstoke  church.  He 
reached  the  ancient  little  pile  when  the  door  was  just 

74 


THE  WITHERED  ARM 

being  opened,  and  he  was  the  first  to  enter.  Taking 
his  seat  by  the  font,  he  watched  all  the  parishioners 
file  in.  The  well-to-do  Farmer  Lodge  came  nearly 
last ;  and  his  young  wife,  who  accompanied  him, 
walked  up  the  aisle  with  the  shyness  natural  to  a 
modest  woman  who  had  appeared  thus  for  the  first 
time.  As  all  other  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her,  the 
youth's  stare  was  not  noticed  now. 

When  he  reached  home  his  mother  said,  '  Well  ? ' 
before  he  had  entered  the  room. 

'She  is  not  tall.     She  is  rather  short,'  he  replied. 

'  Ah  ! '  said  his  mother,  with  satisfaction. 

'  But  she's  very  pretty — very.  In  fact,  she's 
lovely.'  The  youthful  freshness  of  the  yeoman's  wife 
had  evidently  made  an  impression  even  on  the  some- 
what hard  nature  of  the  boy. 

1  That's  all  I  want  to  hear,'  said  his  mother  quickly. 
'  Now,  spread  the  table-cloth.  The  hare  you  wired 
is  very  tender ;  but  mind  that  nobody  catches  you. — 
You've  never  told  me  what  sort  of  hands  she  had.' 

'  I  have  never  seen  'em.  She  never  took  off  her 
gloves.' 

'  What  did  she  wear  this  morning  ? ' 

'  A  white  bonnet  and  a  silver-coloured  gownd.  It 
whewed  and  whistled  so  loud  when  it  rubbed  against 
the  pews  that  the  lady  coloured  up  more  than  ever 
for  very  shame  at  the  noise,  and  pulled  it  in  to  keep 
it  from  touching ;  but  when  she  pushed  into  her  seat, 
it  whewed  more  than  ever.  Mr.  Lodge,  he  seemed 
pleased,  and  his  waistcoat  stuck  out,  and  his  great 
golden  seals  hung  like  a  lord's  ;  but  she  seemed  to 
wish  her  noisy  gownd  anywhere  but  on  her.' 

'  Not  she !     However,  that  will  do  now.' 

These  descriptions  of  the  newly-married  couple 
were  continued  from  time  to  time  by  the  boy  at  his 
mother's  request,  after  any  chance  encounter  he  had 
had  with  them.  But  Rhoda  Brook,  though  she  might 
easily  have  seen  young  Mrs.  Lodge  for  herself  by 
walking  a  couple  of  miles,  would  never  attempt  an 

75 


WESSEX  TALES 

excursion  towards  the  quarter  where  the  farmhouse 
lay.  Neither  did  she,  at  the  daily  milking  in  the 
dairyman's  yard  on  Lodge's  outlying  second  farm, 
ever  speak  on  the  subject  of  the  recent  marriage. 
The  dairyman,  who  rented  the  cows  of  Lodge, 
and  knew  perfectly  the  tall  milkmaid's  history,  with 
manly  kindliness  always  kept  the  gossip  in  the  cow- 
barton  from  annoying  Rhoda.  But  the  atmosphere 
thereabout  was  full  of  the  subject  during  the  first  days 
of  Mrs.  Lodge's  arrival ;  and  from  her  boy's  descrip- 
tion and  the  casual  words  of  the  other  milkers,  Rhoda 
Brook  could  raise  a  mental  image  of  the  unconscious 
Mrs.  Lodge  that  was  realistic  as  a  photograph. 


A   VISION 
III 

ONE  night,  two  or  three  weeks  after  the  bridal  return, 
when  the  boy  was  gone  to  bed,  Rhoda  sat  a  long  time 
over  the  turf  ashes  that  she  had  raked  out  in  front  of 
her  to  extinguish  them.  She  contemplated  so  intently 
the  new  wife,  as  presented  to  her  in  her  mind's  eye 
over  the  embers,  that  she  forgot  the  lapse  of  time. 
At  last,  wearied  with  her  day's  work,  she  too  retired. 

But  the  figure  which  had  occupied  her  so  much 
during  this  and  the  previous  days  was  not  to  be 
banished  at  night.  For  the  first  time  Gertrude  Lodge 
visited  the  supplanted  woman  in  her  dreams.  Rhoda 
Brook  dreamed — since  her  assertion  that  she  really 
saw,  before  falling  asleep,  was  not  to  be  believed — 
that  the  young  wife,  in  the  pale  silk  dress  and  white 
bonnet,  but  with  features  shockingly  distorted,  and 
wrinkled  as  by  age,  was  sitting  upon  her  chest  as  she 
lay.  The  pressure  of  Mrs.  Lodge's  person  grew 
heavier ;  the  blue  eyes  peered  cruelly  into  her  face ; 
and  then  the  figure  thrust  forward  its  left  hand 
mockingly,  so  as  to  make  the  wedding-ring  it  wore 
glitter  in  Rhoda's  eyes.  Maddened  mentally,  and 
nearly  suffocated  by  pressure,  the  sleeper  struggled ; 
the  incubus,  still  regarding  her,  withdrew  to  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  only,  however,  to  come  forward  by  degrees, 
resume  her  seat,  and  flash  her  left  hand  as  before. 

Gasping  for  breath,  Rhoda,  in  a  last  desperate 
effort,  swung  out  her  right  hand,  seized  the  confront- 

77 


WESSEX  TALES 

ing  spectre  by  its  obtrusive  left  arm,  and  whirled  it 
backward  to  the  floor,  starting  up  herself  as  she  did 
so  with  a  low  cry. 

'  O,  merciful  heaven ! '  she  cried,  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed  in  a  cold  sweat ;  '  that  was  not  a 
dream — she  was  here  ! ' 

She  could  feel  her  antagonist's  arm  within  her 
grasp  even  now — the  very  flesh  and  bone  of  it,  as  it 
seemed.  She  looked  on  the  floor  whither  she  had 
whirled  the  spectre,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be 
seen. 

Rhoda  Brook  slept  no  more  that  night,  and  when 
she  went  milking  at  the  next  dawn  they  noticed  how 
pale  and  haggard  she  looked.  The  milk  that  she 
drew  quivered  into  the  pail ;  her  hand  had  not  calmed 
even  yet,  and  still  retained  the  feel  of  the  arm.  She 
came  home  to  breakfast  as  wearily  as  if  it  had  been 
supper-time. 

'What  was  that  noise  in  your  chimmer,  mother, 
last  night  ? '  said  her  son.  '  You  fell  off  the  bed, 
surely  ? ' 

'  Did  you  hear  anything  fall  ?     At  what  time  ? ' 

'Just  when  the  clock  struck  two.' 

She  could  not  explain,  and  when  the  meal  was 
done  went  silently  about  her  household  work,  the  boy 
assisting  her,  for  he  hated  going  afield  on  the  farms, 
and  she  indulged  his  reluctance.  Between  eleven  and 
twelve  the  garden-gate  clicked,  and  she  lifted  her  eyes 
to  the  window.  At  the  bottom  of  the  garden,  within 
the  gate,  stood  the  woman  of  her  vision.  Rhoda 
seemed  transfixed. 

'  Ah,  she  said  she  would  come ! '  exclaimed  the 
boy,  also  observing  her. 

'  Said  so — when  ?     How  does  she  know  us  ? ' 

'  I  have  seen  and  spoken  to  her.  I  talked  to  her 
yesterday.' 

1 1  told  you,'  said  the  mother,  flushing  indignantly, 
'  never  to  speak  to  anybody  in  that  house,  or  go  near 
the  place.' 

78 


THE  WITHERED  ARM 

'  I  did  not  speak  to  her  till  she  spoke  to  me. 
And  I  did  not  go  near  the  place.  I  met  her  in  the 
road.' 

'  What  did  you  tell  her  ? 

'  Nothing.  She  said,  "  Are  you  the  poor  boy  who 
had  to  bring  the  heavy  load  from  market  ?  "  And  she 
looked  at  my  boots,  and  said  they  would  not  keep  my 
feet  dry  if  it  came  on  wet,  because  they  were  so 
cracked.  I  told  her  I  lived  with  my  mother,  and  we 
had  enough  to  do  to  keep  ourselves,  and  that's  how  it 
was;  and  she  said  then,  "I'll  come  and  bring  you 
some  better  boots,  and  see  your  mother."  She  gives 
away  things  to  other  folks  in  the  meads  besides  us.' 

Mrs.  Lodge  was  by  this  time  close  to  the  door — 
not  in  her  silk,  as  Rhoda  had  dreamt  of  in  the  bed- 
chamber, but  in  a  morning  hat,  and  gown  of  common 
light  material,  which  became  her  better  than  silk.  On 
her  arm  she  carried  a  basket. 

The  impression  remaining  from  the  night's  experi- 
ence was  still  strong.  Brook  had  almost  expected  to 
see  the  wrinkles,  the  scorn,  and  the  cruelty  on  her 
visitor's  face.  She  would  have  escaped  an  interview, 
had  escape  been  possible.  There  was,  however,  no 
backdoor  to  the  cottage,  and  in  an  instant  the  boy  had 
lifted  the  latch  to  Mrs.  Lodge's  gentle  knock. 

'  I  see  I  have  come  to  the  right  house,'  said  she, 
glancing  at  the  lad,  and  smiling.  '  But  I  was  not  sure 
till  you  opened  the  door.' 

The  figure  and  action  were  those  of  the  phantom  ; 
but  her  voice  was  so  indescribably  sweet,  her  glance 
so  winning,  her  smile  so  tender,  so  unlike  that  of 
Rhoda's  midnight  visitant,  that  the  latter  could  hardly 
believe  the  evidence  of  her  senses.  She  was  truly 
glad  that  she  had  not  hidden  away  in  sheer  aversion, 
as  she  had  been  inclined  to  do.  In  her  basket  Mrs. 
Lodge  brought  the  pair  of  boots  that  she  had  promised 
to  the  boy,  and  other  useful  articles. 

At  these  proofs  of  a  kindly  feeling  towards  her 
and  hers  Rhoda's  heart  reproached  her  bitterly.  This 

79 


WESSEX  TALES 

innocent  young  thing  should  have  her  blessing  and 
not  her  curse.  When  she  left  them  a  light  seemed 
gone  from  the  dwelling.  Two  days  later  she  came 
again  to  know  if  the  boots  fitted  ;  and  less  than  a 
fortnight  after  that  paid  Rhoda  another  call.  On  this 
occasion  the  boy  was  absent. 

'I  walk  a  good  deal,'  said  Mrs.  Lodge,  'and  your 
house  is  the  nearest  outside  our  own  parish.  I  hope 
you  are  well.  You  don't  look  quite  well.' 

Rhoda  said  she  was  well  enough ;  and,  indeed, 
though  the  paler  of  the  two,  there  was  more  of  the 
strength  that  endures  in  her  well-defined  features  and 
large  frame  than  in  the  soft-cheeked  young  woman 
before  her.  The  conversation  became  quite  con- 
fidential as  regarded  their  powers  and  weaknesses ; 
and  when  Mrs.  Lodge  was  leaving,  Rhoda  said,  '  I 
hope  you  will  find  this  air  agree  with  you,  ma'am,  and 
not  suffer  from  the  damp  of  the  water  meads.' 

The  younger  one  replied  that  there  was  not  much 
doubt  of  it,  her  general  health  being  usually  good. 
'Though,  now  you  remind  me,'  she  added,  '  I  have 
one  little  ailment  which  puzzles  me.  It  is  nothing 
serious,  but  I  cannot  make  it  out.' 

She  uncovered  her  left  hand  and  arm  ;  and  their 
outline  confronted  Rhoda's  gaze  as  the  exact  original 
of  the  limb  she  had  beheld  and  seized  in  her  dream. 
Upon  the  pink  round  surface  of  the  arm  were  faint 
marks  of  an  unhealthy  colour,  as  if  produced  by  a 
rough  grasp.  Rhoda's  eyes  became  riveted  on  the 
discolorations  ;  she  fancied  that  she  discerned  in  them 
the  shape  of  her  own  four  fingers. 

'  How  did  it  happen?'  she  said  mechanically. 

'  I  cannot  tell,'  replied  Mrs.  Lodge,  shaking  her 
head.  'One  night  when  I  was  sound  asleep,  dreaming 
I  was  away  in  some  strange  place,  a  pain  suddenly 
shot  into  my  arm  there,  and  was  so  keen  as  to  awaken 
me.  I  must  have  struck  it  in  the  daytime,  I  suppose, 
though  I  don't  remember  doing  so.'  She  added, 
laughing,  '  I  tell  my  dear  husband  that  it  looks  just  as 

80 


THE  WITHERED  ARM 

if  he  had  flown  into  a  rage  and  struck  me  there.  O, 
I  daresay  it  will  soon  disappear.' 

'  Ha,  ha!     Yes.  .  .  .   On  what  night  did  it  come?  ' 

Mrs.  Lodge  considered,  and  said  it  would  be  a 
fortnight  ago  on  the  morrow.  '  When  I  awoke  I 
could  not  remember  where  I  was,'  she  added,  '  till  the 
clock  striking  two  reminded  me.' 

She  had  named  the  night  and  the  hour  of  Rhoda's 
spectral  encounter,  and  Brook  felt  like  a  guilty  thing. 
The  artless  disclosure  startled  her ;  she  did  not  reason 
on  the  freaks  of  coincidence  ;  and  all  the  scenery  of 
that  ghastly  night  returned  with  double  vividness  to 
her  mind. 

'  O,  can  it  be,'  she  said  to  herself,  when  her  visitor 
had  departed,  '  that  I  exercise  a  malignant  power 
over  people  against  my  own  will?'  She  knew  that 
she  had  been  slily  called  a  witch  since  her  fall ;  but 
never  having  understood  why  that  particular  stigma 
had  been  attached  to  her,  it  had  passed  disregarded. 
Could  this  be  the  explanation,  and  had  such  things  as 
this  ever  happened  before  ? 


A  SUGGESTION 
IV 

THE  summer  drew  on,  and  Rhoda  Brook  almost 
dreaded  to  meet  Mrs.  Lodge  again,  notwithstanding 
that  her  feeling  for  the  young  wife  amounted  well- 
nigh  to  affection.  Something  in  her  own  individuality 
seemed  to  convict  Rhoda  of  crime.  Yet  a  fatality 
sometimes  would  direct  the  steps  of  the  latter  to  the 
outskirts  of  Holmstoke  whenever  she  left  her  house 
for  any  other  purpose  than  her  daily  work ;  and 
hence  it  happened  that  their  next  encounter  was  out 
of  doors.  Rhoda  could  not  avoid  the  subject  which 
had  so  mystified  her,  and  after  the  first  few  words  she 
stammered,  '  I  hope  your — arm  is  well  again,  ma'am  ?  J 
She  had  perceived  with  consternation  that  Gertrude 
Lodge  carried  her  left  arm  stiffly. 

'No;  it  is  not  quite  well.  Indeed  it  is  no  better 
at  all ;  it  is  rather  worse.  It  pains  me  dreadfully 
sometimes.' 

'  Perhaps  you  had  better  go  to  a  doctor,  ma'am.' 

She  replied  that  she  had  already  seen  a  doctor. 
Her  husband  had  insisted  upon  her  going  to  one. 
But  the  surgeon  had  not  seemed  to  understand  the 
afflicted  limb  at  all ;  he  had  told  her  to  bathe  it  in 
hot  water,  and  she  had  bathed  it,  but  the  treatment 
had  done  no  good. 

'  Will  you  let  me  see  it  ? '  said  the  milkwoman. 

Mrs.  Lodge  pushed  up  her  sleeve  and  disclosed 
the  place,  which  was  a  few  inches  above  the  wrist. 

82 


THE  WITHERED  ARM 

As  soon  as  Rhoda  Brook  saw  it,  she  could  hardly 
preserve  her  composure.  There  was  nothing  of  the 
nature  of  a  wound,  but  the  arm  at  that  point  had  a 
shrivelled  look,  and  the  outline  of  the  four  fingers 
appeared  more  distinct  than  at  the  former  time. 
Moreover,  she  fancied  that  they  were  imprinted  in 
precisely  the  relative  position  of  her  clutch  upon  the 
arm  in  the  trance  ;  the  first  finger  towards  Gertrude's 
wrist,  and  the  fourth  towards  her  elbow. 

What  the  impress  resembled  seemed  to  have 
struck  Gertrude  herself  since  their  last  meeting.  '  It 
looks  almost  like  finger-marks,'  she  said  ;  adding  with 
a  faint  laugh,  '  my  husband  says  it  is  as  if  some  witch, 
or  the  devil  himself,  had  taken  hold  of  me  there,  and 
blasted  the  flesh.' 

Rhoda  shivered.    'That's  fancy,'  she  said  hurriedly 
'  I  wouldn't  mind  it,  if  I  were  you.' 

'  I  shouldn't  so  much  mind  it,'  said  the  younger, 
with  hesitation,  '  if — if  I  hadn't  a  notion  that  it  makes 
my  husband — dislike  me — no,  love  me  less.  Men 
think  so  much  of  personal  appearance.' 

'  Some  do — he  for  one.' 

'  Yes  ;  and  he  was  very  proud  of  mine,  at  first.' 

'  Keep  your  arm  covered  from  his  sight.' 

'  Ah — he  knows  the  disfigurement  is  there ! '  She 
tried  to  hide  the  tears  that  filled  her  eyes. 

'Well,  ma'am,  I  earnestly  hope  it  will  go  away 
soon.' 

And  so  the  milkwoman's  mind  was  chained  anew 
to  the  subject  by  a  horrid  sort  of  spell  as  she  returned 
home.  The  sense  of  having  been  guilty  of  an  act 
of  malignity  increased,  affect  as  she  might  to  ridicule 
her  superstition.  In  her  secret  heart  Rhoda  did  not 
altogether  object  to  a  slight  diminution  of  her 
successor's  beauty,  by  whatever  means  it  had  come 
about ;  but  she  did  not  wish  to  inflict  upon  her 
physical  pain.  For  though  this  pretty  young  woman 
had  rendered  impossible  any  reparation  which  Lodge 
might  have  made  Rhoda  for  his  past  conduct,  every- 

83 


WESSEX  TALES 

thing  like  resentment  at  the  unconscious  usurpation 
had  quite  passed  away  from  the  elder's  mind 

If  the  sweet  and  kindly  Gertrude  Lodge  only 
knew  of  the  dream-scene  in  the  bed-chamber,  what 
would  she  think  ?  Not  to  inform  her  of  it  seemed 
treachery  in  the  presence  of  her  friendliness ;  but  tell 
she  could  not  of  her  own  accord — neither  could  she 
devise  a  remedy. 

She  mused  upon  the  matter  the  greater  part  of 
the  night ;  and  the  next  day,  after  the  morning 
milking,  set  out  to  obtain  another  glimpse  of  Gertrude 
Lodge  if  she  could,  being  held  to  her  by  a  gruesome 
fascination.  By  watching  the  house  from  a  distance 
the  milkmaid  was  presently  able  to  discern  the 
farmer's  wife  in  a  ride  she  was  taking  alone — probably 
to  join  her  husband  in  some  distant  field.  Mrs. 
Lodge  perceived  her,  and  cantered  in  her  direction. 

'  Good  morning,  Rhoda ! '  Gertrude  said,  when  she 
had  come  up.  '  I  was  going  to  call.' 

Rhoda  noticed  that  Mrs.  Lodge  held  the  reins 
with  some  difficulty. 

4 1  hope — the  bad  arm,'  said  Rhoda. 

'  They  tell  me  there  is  possibly  one  way  by  which 
I  might  be  able  to  find  out  the  cause,  and  so  perhaps 
the  cure,  of  it,'  replied  the  other  anxiously.  '  It  is  by 
going  to  some  clever  man  over  in  Egdon  Heath. 
They  did  not  know  if  he  was  still  alive — and  I  cannot 
remember  his  name  at  this  moment ;  but  they  said 
that  you  knew  more  of  his  movements  than  anybody 
else  hereabout,  and  could  tell  me  if  he  were  still  to  be 
consulted.  Dear  me — what  was  his  name  ?  But  you 
know.' 

*  Not  Conjuror  Trendle?'  said  her  thin  companion, 
turning  pale. 

'  Trendle — yes.     Is  he  alive  ? ' 

1 1  believe  so,'  said  Rhoda,  with  reluctance. 

'  Why  do  you  call  him  conjuror  ? ' 

'  Well — they  say — they  used  to  say  he  was  a — he 
had  powers  other  folks  have  not.' 

84 


THE  WITHERED  ARM 

'  O,  how  could  my  people  be  so  superstitious  as 
to  recommend  a  man  of  that  sort !  I  thought  they 
meant  some  medical  man.  I  shall  think  no  more  of 
him.' 

Rhoda  looked  relieved,  and  Mrs.  Lodge  rode  on. 
The  milkwoman  had  inwardly  seen,  from  the  moment 
she  heard  of  her  having  been  mentioned  as  a  refer- 
ence for  this  man,  that  there  must  exist  a  sarcastic 
feeling  among  the  work-folk  that  a  sorceress  would 
know  the  whereabouts  of  the  exorcist.  They  sus- 
pected her,  then.  A  short  time  ago  this  would  have 
given  no  concern  to  a  woman  of  her  common-sense. 
But  she  had  a  haunting  reason  to  be  superstitious 
now ;  and  she  had  been  seized  with  sudden  dread 
that  this  Conjuror  Trendle  might  name  her  as  the 
malignant  influence  which  was  blasting  the  fair  person 
of  Gertrude,  and  so  lead  her  friend  to  hate  her  for 
ever,  and  to  treat  her  as  some  fiend  in  human  shape. 

But  all  was  not  over.  Two  days  after,  a  shadow 
intruded  into  the  window-pattern  thrown  on  Rhoda 
Brook's  floor  by  the  afternoon  sun.  The  woman 
opened  the  door  at  once,  almost  breathlessly. 

'  Are  you  alone  ? '  said  Gertrude.  She  seemed  to 
be  no  less  harassed  and  anxious  than  Brook  herself. 

1  Yes,'  said  Rhoda. 

4  The  place  on  my  arm  seems  worse,  and  troubles 
me!'  the  young  farmer's  wife  went  on.  'It  is  so 
mysterious !  I  do  hope  it  will  not  be  an  incurable 
wound.  I  have  again  been  thinking  of  what  they 
said  about  Conjuror  Trendle.  I  don't  really  believe 
in  such  men,  but  I  should  not  mind  just  visiting 
him,  from  curiosity — though  on  no  account  must  my 
husband  know.  Is  it  far  to  where  he  lives  ? ' 

'  Yes — five  miles,'  said  Rhoda  backwardly.  '  In 
the  heart  of  Egdon.' 

1  Well,  I  should  have  to  walk.  Could  not  you 
go  with  me  to  show  me  the  way — say  to-morrow 
afternoon  ? ' 

'  O,  not  I ;  that  is ,'  the  milkwoman  murmured, 

85 


WESSEX  TALES 

with  a  start  of  dismay.  Again  the  dread  seized  her 
that  something  to  do  with  her  fierce  act  in  the  dream 
might  be  revealed,  and  her  character  in  the  eyes  of 
the  most  useful  friend  she  had  ever  had  be  ruined 
irretrievably. 

Mrs.  Lodge  urged,  and  Rhoda  finally  assented, 
though  with  much  misgiving.  Sad  as  the  journey 
would  be  to  her,  she  could  not  conscientiously  stand  in 
the  way  of  a  possible  remedy  for  her  patron's  strange 
affliction.  It  was  agreed  that,  to  escape  suspicion  of 
their  mystic  intent,  they  should  meet  at  the  edge  of 
the  heath  at  the  corner  of  a  plantation  which  was 
visible  from  the  spot  where  they  now  stood. 


CONJUROR  TRENDLE 


BY  the  next  afternoon  Rhoda  would  have  done  any- 
thing to  escape  this  inquiry.  But  she  had  promised 
to  go.  Moreover,  there  was  a  horrid  fascination  at 
times  in  becoming  instrumental  in  throwing  such 
possible  light  on  her  own  character  as  would  reveal 
her  to  be  something  greater  in  the  occult  world  than 
she  had  ever  herself  suspected. 

She  started  just  before  the  time  of  day  mentioned 
between  them,  and  half -an -hour's  brisk  walking 
brought  her  to  the  south-eastern  extension  of  the 
Egdon  tract  of  country,  where  the  fir  plantation  was. 
A  slight  figure,  cloaked  and  veiled,  was  already  there. 
Rhoda  recognized,  almost  with  a  shudder,  that  Mrs. 
Lodge  bore  her  left  arm  in  a  sling. 

They  hardly  spoke  to  each  other,  and  immediately 
set  out  on  their  climb  into  the  interior  of  this  solemn 
country,  which  stood  high  above  the  rich  alluvial  soil 
they  had  left  half -an -hour  before.  It  was  a  long 
walk  ;  thick  clouds  made  the  atmosphere  dark,  though 
it  was  as  yet  only  early  afternoon ;  and  the  wind 
howled  dismally  over  the  slopes  of  the  heath — not 
improbably  the  same  heath  which  had  witnessed  the 
agony  of  the  Wessex  King  Ina,  presented  to  after- 
ages  as  Lear.  Gertrude  Lodge  talked  most,  Rhoda 
replying  with  monosyllabic  preoccupation.  She  had 
a  strange  dislike  to  walking  on  the  side  of  her  com- 
panion where  hung  the  afflicted  arm,  moving  round  to 

87 


WESSEX  TALES 

the  other  when  inadvertently  near  it.  Much  heather 
had  been  brushed  by  their  feet  when  they  descended 
upon  a  cart-track,  beside  which  stood  the  house  of 
the  man  they  sought. 

He  did  not  profess  his  remedial  practices  openly, 
or  care  anything  about  their  continuance,  his  direct 
interests  being  those  of  a  dealer  in  furze,  turf,  '  sharp 
sand,'  and  other  local  products.  Indeed,  he  affected 
not  to  believe  largely  in  his  own  powers,  and  when 
warts  that  had  been  shown  him  for  cure  miraculously 
disappeared — which  it  must  be  owned  they  infallibly 
did — he  would  say  lightly,  '  O,  I  only  drink  a  glass 
of  grog  upon  'em  at  your  expense — perhaps  it's  all 
chance,'  and  immediately  turn  the  subject. 

He  was  at  home  when  they  arrived,  having  in  fact 
seen  them  descending  into  his  valley.  He  was  a 
gray-bearded  man,  with  a  reddish  face,  and  he  looked 
singularly  at  Rhoda  the  first  moment  he  beheld  her. 
Mrs.  Lodge  told  him  her  errand ;  and  then  with 
words  of  self-disparagement  he  examined  her  arm. 

'  Medicine  can't  cure  it,'  he  said  promptly.  '  'Tis 
the  work  of  an  enemy.' 

Rhoda  shrank  into  herself,  and  drew  back. 

'  An  enemy  ?     What  enemy  ? '  asked  Mrs.  Lodge. 

He  shook  his  head.  '  That's  best  known  to  your- 
self,' he  said.  '  If  you  like,  I  can  show  the  person  to 
you,  though  I  shall  not  myself  know  who  it  is.  I  can 
do  no  more ;  and  don't  wish  to  do  that.' 

She  pressed  him  ;  on  which  he  told  Rhoda  to  wait 
outside  where  she  stood,  and  took  Mrs.  Lodge  into 
the  room.  It  opened  immediately  from  the  door ; 
and,  as  the  latter  remained  ajar,  Rhoda  Brook  could 
see  the  proceedings  without  taking  part  in  them.  He 
brought  a  tumbler  from  the  dresser,  nearly  filled  it 
with  water,  and  fetching  an  egg,  prepared  it  in  some 
private  way ;  after  which  he  broke  it  on  the  edge  of 
the  glass,  so  that  the  white  went  in  and  the  yolk 
remained.  As  it  was  getting  gloomy,  he  took  the 
glass  and  its  contents  to  the  window,  and  told 

88 


THE  WITHERED  ARM 

Gertrude  to  watch  the  mixture  closely.  They  leant 
over  the  table  together,  and  the  milkwoman  could  see 
the  opaline  hue  of  the  egg-fluid  changing  form  as  it 
sank  in  the  water,  but  she  was  not  near  enough  to 
define  the  shape  that  it  assumed. 

'  Do  you  catch  the  likeness  of  any  face  or  figure 
as  you  look  ? '  demanded  the  conjuror  of  the  young 
woman. 

She  murmured  a  reply,  in  tones  so  low  as  to  be 
inaudible  to  Rhoda,  and  continued  to  gaze  intently 
into  the  glass.  Rhoda  turned,  and  walked  a  few  steps 
away. 

When  Mrs.  Lodge  came  out,  and  her  face  was 
met  by  the  light,  it  appeared  exceedingly  pale — as 
pale  as  Rhoda's — against  the  sad  dun  shades  of  the 
upland's  garniture.  Trendle  shut  the  door  behind 
her,  and  they  at  once  started  homeward  together. 
But  Rhoda  perceived  that  her  companion  had  quite 
changed. 

'  Did  he  charge  much  ? '  she  asked  tentatively. 

'  O  no — nothing.  He  would  not  take  a  farthing,' 
said  Gertrude. 

'  And  what  did  you  see  ? '  inquired  Rhoda. 

1  Nothing  I — care  to  speak  of.'  The  constraint  in 
her  manner  was  remarkable  ;  her  face  was  so  rigid  as 
to  wear  an  oldened  aspect,  faintly  suggestive  of  the 
face  in  Rhoda's  bed-chamber. 

1  Was  it  you  who  first  proposed  coming  here  ? ' 
Mrs.  Lodge  suddenly  inquired,  after  a  long  pause. 
'  How  very  odd,  if  you  did ! ' 

'  No.  But  I  am  not  sorry  we  have  come,  all 
things  considered,'  she  replied.  For  the  first  time  a 
sense  of  triumph  possessed  her,  and  she  did  not 
altogether  deplore  that  the  young  thing  at  her  side 
should  learn  that  their  lives  had  been  antagonized  by 
other  influences  than  their  own. 

The  subject  was  no  more  alluded  to  during  the 
long  and  dreary  walk  home.  But  in  some  way  or 
other  a  story  was  whispered  about  the  many-dairied 

89 


WESSEX  TALES 

lowland  that  winter  that  Mrs.  Lodge's  gradual  loss  of 
the  use  of  her  left  arm  was  owing  to  her  being  '  over- 
looked '  by  Rhoda  Brook.  The  latter  kept  her  own 
counsel  about  the  incubus,  but  her  face  grew  sadder 
and  thinner ;  and  in  the  spring  she  and  her  boy 
disappeared  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Holmstoke. 


A  SECOND  ATTEMPT 

VI 

HALF  a  dozen  years  passed  away,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Lodge's  married  experience  sank  into  prosiness,  and 
worse.  The  farmer  was  usually  gloomy  and  silent : 
the  woman  whom  he  had  wooed  for  her  grace  and 
beauty  was  contorted  and  disfigured  in  the  left  limb  ; 
moreover,  she  had  brought  him  no  child,  which 
rendered  it  likely  that  he  would  be  the  last  of  a  family 
who  had  occupied  that  valley  for  some  two  hundred 
years.  He  thought  of  Rhoda  Brook  and  her  son ; 
and  feared  this  might  be  a  judgment  from  heaven 
upon  him. 

The  once  blithe-hearted  and  enlightened  Gertrude 
was  changing  into  an  irritable,  superstitious  woman, 
whose  whole  time  was  given  to  experimenting  upon 
her  ailment  with  every  quack  remedy  she  came  across. 
She  was  honestly  attached  to  her  husband,  and  was 
ever  secretly  hoping  against  hope  to  win  back  his 
heart  again  by  regaining  some  at  least  of  her  personal 
beauty.  Hence  it  arose  that  her  closet  was  lined 
with  bottles,  packets,  and  ointment -pots  of  every 
description — nay,  bunches  of  mystic  herbs,  charms, 
and  books  of  necromancy,  which  in  her  schoolgirl 
time  she  would  have  ridiculed  as  folly. 

'  Damned  if  you  won't  poison  yourself  with  these 
apothecary  messes  and  witch  mixtures  some  time  or 
other,'  said  her  husband,  when  his  eye  chanced  to  fall 
upon  the  multitudinous  array. 

01 


WESSEX  TALES 

She  did  not  reply,  but  turned  her  sad,  soft  glance 
upon  him  in  such  heart-swollen  reproach  that  he 
looked  sorry  for  his  words,  and  added,  '  I  only  meant 
it  for  your  good,  you  know,  Gertrude.' 

'  I'll  clear  out  the  whole  lot,  and  destroy  them,' 
said  she  huskily,  '  and  try  such  remedies  no  more  ! ' 

'  You  want  somebody  to  cheer  you,'  he  observed. 
'  I  once  thought  of  adopting  a  boy  ;  but  he  is  too  old 
now.  And  he  is  gone  away  I  don't  know  where.' 

She  guessed  to  whom  he  alluded ;  for  Rhoda 
Brook's  story  had  in  the  course  of  years  become  known 
to  her ;  though  not  a  word  had  ever  passed  between 
her  husband  and  herself  on  the  subject.  Neither  had 
she  ever  spoken  to  him  of  her  visit  to  Conjuror 
Trendle,  and  of  what  was  revealed  to  her,  or  she 
thought  was  revealed  to  her,  by  that  solitary  heath- 
man. 

She  was  now  five-and-twenty ;  but  she  seemed 
older.  '  Six  years  of  marriage,  and  only  a  few  months 
of  love,'  she  sometimes  whispered  to  herself.  And 
then  she  thought  of  the  apparent  cause,  and  said,  with 
a  tragic  glance  at  her  withering  limb,  '  If  I  could  only 
again  be  as  I  was  when  he  first  saw  me ! ' 

She  obediently  destroyed  her  nostrums  and  charms; 
but  there  remained  a  hankering  wish  to  try  something 
else — some  other  sort  of  cure  altogether.  She  had 
never  revisited  Trendle  since  she  had  been  conducted 
to  the  house  of  the  solitary  by  Rhoda  against  her  will ; 
but  it  now  suddenly  occurred  to  Gertrude  that  she 
would,  in  a  last  desperate  effort  at  deliverance  from 
this  seeming  curse,  again  seek  out  the  man,  if  he  yet 
lived.  He  was  entitled  to  a  certain  credence,  for 
the  indistinct  form  he  had  raised  in  the  glass  had 
undoubtedly  resembled  the  only  woman  in  the  world 
who — as  she  now  knew,  though  not  then — could  have 
a  reason  for  bearing  her  ill-will.  The  visit  should 
be  paid. 

This  time  she  went  alone,  though  she  nearly  got 
lost  on  the  heath,  and  roamed  a  considerable  distance 

02 


THE  WITHERED  ARM 

out  of  her  way.  Treadle's  house  was  reached  at  last, 
however :  he  was  not  indoors,  and  instead  of  waiting 
at  the  cottage,  she  went  to  where  his  bent  figure  was 
pointed  out  to  her  at  work  a  long  way  off.  Trendle 
remembered  her,  and  laying  down  the  handful  of 
furze-roots  which  he  was  gathering  and  throwing  into 
a  heap,  he  offered  to  accompany  her  in  her  homeward 
direction,  as  the  distance  was  considerable  and  the 
days  were  short.  So  they  walked  together,  his  head 
bowed  nearly  to  the  earth,  and  his  form  of  a  colour 
with  it. 

, '  You  can  send  away  warts  and  other  excrescences, 
I  know,'  she  said ;  '  why  can't  you  send  away  this  ? ' 
And  the  arm  was  uncovered. 

'You  think  too  much  of  my  powers!'  said  Trendle; 
1  and  I  am  old  and  weak  now,  too.  No,  no  ;  it  is  too 
much  for  me  to  attempt  in  my  own  person.  What 
have  ye  tried  ? ' 

She  named  to  him  some  of  the  hundred  medica- 
ments and  counterspells  which  she  had  adopted  from 
time  to  time.  He  shook  his  head. 

'  Some  were  good  enough,'  he  said  approvingly  ; 
'  but  not  many  of  them  for  such  as  this.  This  is  of 
the  nature  of  a  blight,  not  of  the  nature  of  a  wound ; 
and  if  you  ever  do  throw  it  off,  it  will  be  all  at  once.' 

'If  I  only  could!' 

'  There  is  only  one  chance  of  doing  it  known  to 
me.  It  has  never  failed  in  kindred  afflictions, — that 
I  can  declare.  But  it  is  hard  to  carry  out,  and 
especially  for  a  woman.' 

'  Tell  me ! '  said  she. 

'  You  must  touch  with  the  limb  the  neck  of  a  man 
who's  been  hanged.' 

She  started  a  little  at  the  image  he  had  raised. 

'  Before  he's  cold — just  after  he's  cut  down,'  con- 
tinued the  conjuror  impassively. 

'  How  can  that  do  good  ? ' 

'  It  will  turn  the  blood  and  change  the  constitution. 
But,  as  I  say,  to  do  it  is  hard.  You  must  go  to  the 

93 


WESSEX  TALES 

jail  when  there's  a  hanging,  and  wait  for  him  when 
he's  brought  off  the  gallows.  Lots  have  done  it, 
though  perhaps  not  such  pretty  women  as  you.  I 
used  to  send  dozens  for  skin  complaints.  But  that 
was  in  former  times.  The  last  I  sent  was  in  '13 — 
near  twelve  years  ago.' 

He  had  no  more  to  tell  her ;  and,  when  he  had 
put  her  into  a  straight  track  homeward,  turned  and 
left  her,  refusing  all  money  as  at  first. 


A  RIDE 
VII 

THE  communication  sank  deep  into  Gertrude's  mind. 
Her  nature  was  rather  a  timid  one  ;  and  probably 
of  all  remedies  that  the  white  wizard  could  have 
suggested  there  was  not  one  which  would  have  filled 
her  with  so  much  aversion  as  this,  not  to  speak  of  the 
immense  obstacles  in  the  way  of  its  adoption. 

Casterbridge,  the  county- town,  was  a  dozen  or 
fifteen  miles  off;  and  though  in  those  days,  when  men 
were  executed  for  horse-stealing,  arson,  and  burglary, 
an  assize  seldom  passed  without  a  hanging,  it  was 
not  likely  that  she  could  get  access  to  the  body  of  the 
criminal  unaided.  And  the  fear  of  her  husband's 
anger  made  her  reluctant  to  breathe  a  word  of 
Trendle's  suggestion  to  him  or  to  anybody  about  him. 

She  did  nothing  for  months,  and  patiently  bore  her 
disfigurement  as  before.  But  her  woman's  nature, 
craving  for  renewed  love,  through  the  medium  of 
renewed  beauty  (she  was  but  twenty-five),  was  ever 
stimulating  her  to  try  what,  at  any  rate,  could  hardly 
do  her  any  harm.  'What  came  by  a  spell  will  go 
by  a  spell  surely,'  she  would  say.  Whenever  her 
imagination  pictured  the  act  she  shrank  in  terror  from 
the  possibility  of  it :  then  the  words  of  the  conjuror, 
'  It  will  turn  your  blood,'  were  seen  to  be  capable 
of  a  scientific  no  less  than  a  ghastly  interpretation  ; 
the  mastering  desire  returned,  and  urged  her  on 
again. 

95 


There  was  at  this  time  but  one  county  paper,  and 
that  her  husband  only  occasionally  borrowed.  But 
old-fashioned  days  had  old-fashioned  means,  and 
news  was  extensively  conveyed  by  word  of  mouth 
from  market  to  market,  or  from  fair  to  fair,  so  that, 
whenever  such  an  event  as  an  execution  was  about 
to  take  place,  few  within  a  radius  of  twenty  miles 
were  ignorant  of  the  coming  sight ;  and,  so  far  as 
Holmstoke  was  concerned,  some  enthusiasts  had  been 
known  to  walk  all  the  way  to  Casterbridge  and  back 
in  one  day,  solely  to  witness  the  spectacle.  The  next 
assizes  were  in  March  ;  and  when  Gertrude  Lodge 
hteard  that  they  had  been  held,  she  inquired  stealthily 
at  the  inn  as  to  the  result,  as  soon  as  she  could  find 
opportunity. 

She  was,  however,  too  late.  The  time  at  which 
the  sentences  were  to  be  carried  out  had  arrived,  and 
to  make  the  journey  and  obtain  admission  at  such 
short  notice  required  at  least  her  husband's  assistance. 
She  dared  not  tell  him,  for  she  had  found  by  delicate 
experiment  that  these  smouldering  village  beliefs 
made  him  furious  if  mentioned,  partly  because  he  half 
entertained  them  himself.  It  was  therefore  necessary 
to  wait  for  another  opportunity. 

Her  determination  received  a  fillip  from  learning 
that  two  epileptic  children  had  attended  from  this 
very  village  of  Holmstoke  many  years  before  with 
beneficial  results,  though  the  experiment  had  been 
strongly  condemned  by  the  neighbouring  clergy. 
April,  May,  June,  passed  ;  and  it  is  no  overstatement 
to  say  that  by  the  end  of  the  last-named  month 
Gertrude  well-nigh  longed  for  the  death  of  a  fellow- 
creature.  Instead  of  her  formal  prayers  each  night, 
her  unconscious  prayer  was,  '  O  Lord,  hang  some 
guilty  or  innocent  person  soon  ! ' 

This  time  she  made  earlier  inquiries,  and  was 
altogether  more  systematic  in  her  proceedings.  More- 
over, the  season  was  summer,  between  the  haymaking 
and  the  harvest,  and  in  the  leisure  thus  afforded  him 

96 


THE  WITHERED  ARM 

her   husband   had    been    holiday  -  taking    away    from 
home. 

The  assizes  were  in  July,  and  she  went  to  the  inn 
as  before.  There  was  to  be  one  execution — only  one 
— for  arson. 

Her  greatest  problem  was  not  how  to  get  to 
Casterbridge,  but  what  means  she  should  adopt  for 
obtaining  admission  to  the  jail.  Though  access  for 
such  purposes  had  formerly  never  been  denied,  the 
custom  had  fallen  into  desuetude  ;  and  in  contemplat- 
ing her  possible  difficulties,  she  was  again  almost 
driven  to  fall  back  upon  her  husband.  But,  on 
sounding  him  about  the  assizes,  he  was  so  uncom- 
municative, so  more  than  usually  cold,  that  she  did 
not  proceed,  and  decided  that  whatever  she  did  she 
would  do  alone. 

Fortune,  obdurate  hitherto,  showed  her  unexpected 
favour.  On  the  Thursday  before  the  Saturday  fixed 
for  the  execution,  Lodge  remarked  to  her  that  he  was 
going  away  from  home  for  another  day  or  two  on 
business  at  a  fair,  and  that  he  was  sorry  he  could  not 
take  her  with  him. 

She  exhibited  on  this  occasion  so  much  readiness 
to  stay  at  home  that  he  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 
Time  had  been  when  she  would  have  shown  deep 
disappointment  at  the  loss  of  such  a  jaunt.  However, 
he  lapsed  into  his  usual  taciturnity,  and  on  the  day 
named  left  Holmstoke. 

It  was  now  her  turn.  She  at  first  had  thought 
of  driving,  but  on  reflection  held  that  driving  would 
not  do,  since  it  would  necessitate  her  keeping  to  the 
turnpike-road,  and  so  increase  by  tenfold  the  risk  of 
her  ghastly  errand  being  found  out.  She  decided  to 
ride,  and  avoid  the  beaten  track,  notwithstanding  that 
in  her  husband's  stables  there  was  no  animal  just  at 
present  which  by  any  stretch  of  imagination  could  be 
considered  a  lady's  mount,  in  spite  of  his  promise 
before  marriage  to  always  keep  a  mare  for  her.  He 
had,  however,  many  cart-horses,  fine  ones  of  their 

97 


WESSEX  TALES 

kind  ;  and  among  the  rest  was  a  serviceable  creature, 
an  equine  Amazon,  with  a  back  as  broad  as  a  sofa, 
on  which  Gertrude  had  occasionally  taken  an  airing 
when  unwell.  This  horse  she  chose. 

On  Friday  afternoon  one  of  the  men  brought  it 
round.  She  was  dressed,  and  before  going  down 
looked  at  her  shrivelled  arm.  '  Ah  ! '  she  said  to  it, 
1  if  it  had  not  been  for  you  this  terrible  ordeal  would 
have  been  saved  me  ! ' 

When  strapping  up  the  bundle  in  which  she 
carried  a  few  articles  of  clothing,  she  took  occasion  to 
say  to  the  servant,  '  I  take  these  in  case  I  should  not 
get  back  to-night  from  the  person  I  am  going  to  visit. 
Don't  be  alarmed  if  I  am  not  in  by  ten,  and  close  up 
the  house  as  usual.  I  shall  be  at  home  to-morrow 
for  certain.'  She  meant  then  to  tell  her  husband 
privately :  the  deed  accomplished  was  not  like  the 
deed  projected.  He  would  almost  certainly  forgive 
her. 

And  then  the  pretty  palpitating  Gertrude  Lodge 
went  from  her  husband's  homestead  ;  but  though  her 
goal  was  Casterbridge  she  did  not  take  the  direct 
route  thither  through  Stickleford.  Her  cunning 
course  at  first  was  in  precisely  the  opposite  direction. 
As  soon  as  she  was  out  of  sight,  however,  she  turned 
to  the  left,  by  a  road  which  led  into  Egdon,  and  on 
entering  the  heath  wheeled  round,  and  set  out  in  the 
true  course,  due  westerly.  A  more  private  way  down 
the  county  could  not  be  imagined;  and  as  to  direction, 
she  had  merely  to  keep  her  horse's  head  to  a  point  a 
little  to  the  right  of  the  sun.  She  knew  that  she 
would  light  upon  a  furze-cutter  or  cottager  of  some 
sort  from  time  to  time,  from  whom  she  might  correct 
her  bearing. 

Though  the  date  was  comparatively  recent,  Egdon 
was  much  less  fragmentary  in  character  than  now. 
The  attempts — successful  and  otherwise — at  cultiva- 
tion on  the  lower  slopes,  which  intrude  and  break  up 
the  original  heath  into  small  detached  heaths,  had  not 

98 


THE  WITHERED  ARM 

been  carried  far  ;  Enclosure  Acts  had  not  taken  effect, 
and  the  banks  and  fences  which  now  exclude  the 
cattle  of  those  villagers  who  formerly  enjoyed  rights 
of  commonage  thereon,  and  the  carts  of  those  who 
had  turbary  privileges  which  kept  them  in  firing  all 
the  year  round,  were  not  erected.  Gertrude,  there- 
fore, rode  along  with  no  other  obstacles  than  the 
prickly  furze-bushes,  the  mats  of  heather,  the  white 
water-courses,  and  the  natural  steeps  and  declivities 
of  the  ground. 

Her  horse  was  sure,  if  heavy-footed  and  slow,  and 
though  a  draught  animal,  was  easy-paced ;  had  it  been 
otherwise,  she  was  not  a  woman  who  could  have 
ventured  to  ride  over  such  a  bit  of  country  with  a 
half-dead  arm.  It  was  therefore  nearly  eight  o'clock 
when  she  drew  rein  to  breathe  her  bearer  on  the  last 
outlying  high  point  of  heath-land  towards  Caster- 
bridge,  previous  to  leaving  Egdon  for  the  cultivated 
valleys. 

She  halted  before  a  pool  called  Rushy -pond, 
flanked  by  the  ends  of  two  hedges ;  a  railing  ran 
through  the  centre  of  the  pond,  dividing  it  in  half. 
Over  the  railing  she  saw  the  low  green  country ;  over 
the  green  trees  the  roofs  of  the  town  ;  over  the  roofs 
a  white  flat  fa£ade,  denoting  the  entrance  to  the  county 
jail.  On  the  roof  of  this  front  specks  were  moving 
about ;  they  seemed  to  be  workmen  erecting  some- 
thing. Her  flesh  crept.  She  descended  slowly,  and 
was  soon  amid  corn-fields  and  pastures.  In  another 
half-hour,  when  it  was  almost  dusk,  Gertrude  reached 
the  White  Hart,  the  first  inn  of  the  town  on  that 
side. 

Little  surprise  was  excited  by  her  arrival ;  farmers' 
wives  rode  on  horseback  then  more  than  they  do  now ; 
though,  for  that  matter,  Mrs.  Lodge  was  not  imagined 
to  be  a  wife  at  all ;  the  innkeeper  supposed  her  some 
harum-skarum  young  woman  who  had  come  to  attend 
'hang-fair'  next  day.  Neither  her  husband  nor  her- 
self ever  dealt  in  Casterbridge  market,  so  that  she 

99 


WESSEX  TALES 

was  unknown.  While  dismounting  she  beheld  a 
crowd  of  boys  standing  at  the  door  of  a  harness- 
maker's  shop  just  above  the  inn,  looking  inside  it  with 
deep  interest. 

1  What  is  going  on  there  ? '  she  asked  of  the  ostler. 

'  Making  the  rope  for  to-morrow.' 

She  throbbed  responsively,  and  contracted  her 
arm. 

'  'Tis  sold  by  the  inch  afterwards,'  the  man  con- 
tinued. '  I  could  get  you  a  bit,  miss,  for  nothing,  if 
you'd  like  ? ' 

She  hastily  repudiated  any  such  wish,  all  the  more 
from  a  curious  creeping  feeling  that  the  condemned 
wretch's  destiny  was  becoming  interwoven  with  her 
own  ;  and  having  engaged  a  room  for  the  night,  sat 
down  to  think. 

Up  to  this  time  she  had  formed  but  the  vaguest 
notions  about  her  means  of  obtaining  access  to  the 
prison.  The  words  of  the  cunning-man  returned  to 
her  mind.  He  had  implied  that  she  should  use  her 
beauty,  impaired  though  it  was,  as  a  pass-key.  In  her 
inexperience  she  knew  little  about  jail  functionaries ; 
she  had  heard  of  a  high-sheriff  and  an  under-sheriff, 
but  dimly  only.  She  knew,  however,  that  there  must 
be  a  hangman,  and  to  the  hangman  she  determined 
to  apply. 


A   WATER-SIDE  HERMIT 
VIII 

AT  this  date,  and  for  several  years  after,  there  was  a 
hangman  to  almost  every  jail.  Gertrude  found,  on 
inquiry,  that  the  Casterbridge  official  dwelt  in  a  lonely 
cottage  by  a  deep  slow  river  flowing  under  the  cliff  on 
which  the  prison  buildings  were  situate — the  stream 
being  the  self-same  one,  though  she  did  not  know  it, 
which  watered  the  Stickleford  and  Holmstoke  meads 
lower  down  in  its  course. 

Having  changed  her  dress,  and  before  she  had 
eaten  or  drunk — for  she  could  not  take  her  ease  till 
she  had  ascertained  some  particulars — Gertrude  pur- 
sued her  way  by  a  path  along  the  water-side  to  the 
cottage  indicated.  Passing  thus  the  outskirts  of  the 
jail,  she  discerned  on  the  level  roof  over  the  gateway 
three  rectangular  lines  against  the  sky,  where  the 
specks  had  been  moving  in  her  distant  view ;  she 
recognized  what  the  erection  was,  and  passed  quickly 
on.  Another  hundred  yards  brought  her  to  the 
executioner's  house,  which  a  boy  pointed  out.  It 
stood  close  to  the  same  stream,  and  was  hard  by  a 
weir,  the  waters  of  which  emitted  a  steady  roar. 

While  she  stood  hesitating  the  door  opened,  and 
an  old  man  came  forth  shading  a  candle  with  one 
hand.  Locking  the  door  on  the  outside,  he  turned 
to  a  flight  of  wooden  steps  fixed  against  the  end  of 
the  cottage,  and  began  to  ascend  them,  this  being 
evidently  the  staircase  to  his  bedroom.  Gertrude 

101 


WESSEX  TALES 

hastened  forward,  but  by  the  time  she  reached  the 
foot  of  the  ladder  he  was  at  the  top.  She  called  to 
him  loudly  enough  to  be  heard  above  the  roar  of  the 
weir ;  he  looked  down  and  said,  '  What  d'ye  want 
here?' 

'  To  speak  to  you  a  minute/ 

The  candle-light,  such  as  it  was,  fell  upon  her  im- 
ploring, pale,  upturned  face,  and  Davies  (as  the  hang- 
man was  called)  backed  down  the  ladder.  '  I  was  just 
going  to  bed,'  he  said ;  '  "  Early  to  bed  and  early  to 
rise,"  but  I  don't  mind  stopping  a  minute  for  such  a 
one  as  you.  Come  into  house.'  He  reopened  the 
door,  and  preceded  her  to  the  room  within. 

The  implements  of  his  daily  work,  which  was  that 
of  a  jobbing  gardener,  stood  in  a  corner,  and  seeing 
probably  that  she  looked  rural,  he  said,  '  If  you  want 
me  to  undertake  country  work  I  can't  come,  for  I 
never  leave  Casterbridge  for  gentle  nor  simple — not 
I.  My  real  calling  is  officer  of  justice,'  he  added 
formally. 

*  Yes,  yes  !     That's  it.     To-morrow ! ' 

'  Ah  !  I  thought  so.  Well,  what's  the  matter  about 
that  ?  'Tis  no  use  to  come  here  about  the  knot — 
folks  do  come  continually,  but  I  tell  'em  one  knot 
is  as  merciful  as  another  if  ye  keep  it  under  the  ear. 
Is  the  unfortunate  man  a  relation ;  or,  I  should  say, 
perhaps '  (looking  at  her  dress)  '  a  person  who's  been 
in  your  employ  ? ' 

'  No.     What  time  is  the  execution  ? ' 

'The  same  as  usual — twelve  o'clock,  or  as  soon 
after  as  the  London  mail-coach  gets  in.  We  always 
wait  for  that,  in  case  of  a  reprieve.' 

'  O — a  reprieve — I  hope  not ! '  she  said  involun- 
tarily. 

'  Well, — hee,  hee ! — as  a  matter  of  business,  so  do 
I !  But  still,  if  ever  a  young  fellow  deserved  to  be 
let  off,  this  one  does ;  only  just  turned  eighteen,  and 
only  present  by  chance  when  the  rick  was  fired. 
Howsomever,  there's  not  much  risk  of  it,  as  they  are 

102 


THE  WITHERED  ARM 

obliged  to  make  an  example  of  him,  there  having  been 
so  much  destruction  of  property  that  way  lately.' 

'  I  mean,'  she  explained,  '  that  I  want  to  touch  him 
for  a  charm,  a  cure  of  an  affliction,  by  the  advice  of  a 
man  who  has  proved  the  virtue  of  the  remedy.' 

'  O  yes,  miss  !  Now  I  understand.  I've  had  such 
people  come  in  past  years.  But  it  didn't  strike  me 
that  you  looked  of  a  sort  to  require  blood-turning. 
What's  the  complaint  ?  The  wrong  kind  for  this,  I'll 
be  bound.' 

'  My  arm.'  She  reluctantly  showed  the  withered 
skin. 

'  Ah ! — 'tis  all  a-scram  ! '  said  the  hangman,  examin- 
ing it. 

'  Yes,'  said  she. 

'  Well,'  he  continued,  with  interest,  '  that  is  the 
class  o'  subject,  I'm  bound  to  admit!  I  like  the  look 
of  the  wownd ;  it  is  truly  as  suitable  for  the  cure  as 
any  I  ever  saw.  'Twas  a  knowing-man  that  sent  'ee, 
whoever  he  was.' 

'  You  can  contrive  for  me  all  that's  necessary  ? ' 
she  said  breathlessly. 

1  You  should  really  have  gone  to  the  governor  of 
the  jail,  and  your  doctor  with  'ee,  and  given  your 
name  and  address — that's  how  it  used  to  be  done,  if 
I  recollect.  Still,  perhaps,  I  can  manage  it  for  a 
trifling  fee.' 

'  O,  thank  you !  I  would  rather  do  it  this  way,  as 
I  should  like  it  kept  private.' 

'  Lover  not  to  know,  eh  ? ' 

'No — husband.' 

'Aha!  Very  well.  I'll  get  'ee  a  touch  of  the 
corpse.' 

'  Where  is  it  now  ?  '  she  said,  shuddering. 

'  It  ? — he,  you  mean  ;  he's  living  yet.  Just  inside 
that  little  small  winder  up  there  in  the  glum.'  He 
signified  the  jail  on  the  cliff  above. 

She  thought  of  her  husband  and  her  friends.  '  Yes, 
of  course,'  she  said  ;  '  and  how  am  I  to  proceed  ? ' 

103 


WESSEX  TALES 

He  took  her  to  the  door.  '  Now,  do  you  be  wait- 
ing at  the  little  wicket  in  the  wall,  that  you'll  find  up 
there  in  the  lane,  not  later  than  one  o'clock.  I  will 
open  it  from  the  inside,  as  I  shan't  come  home  to 
dinner  till  he's  cut  down.  Good-night.  Be  punctual ; 
and  if  you  don't  want  anybody  to  know  'ee,  wear  a 
veil.  Ah — once  I  had  such  a  daughter  as  you ! ' 

She  went  away,  and  climbed  the  path  above,  to 
assure  herself  that  she  would  be  able  to  find  the 
wicket  next  day.  Its  outline  was  soon  visible  to  her 
— a  narrow  opening  in  the  outer  wall  of  the  prison 
precincts.  The  steep  was  so  great  that,  having 
reached  the  wicket,  she  stopped  a  moment  to  breathe ; 
and,  looking  back  upon  the  water-side  cot,  saw  the 
hangman  again  ascending  his  outdoor  staircase.  He 
entered  the  loft  or  chamber  to  which  it  led,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  extinguished  his  light. 

The  town  clock  struck  ten,  and  she  returned  to 
the  White  Hart  as  she  had  come. 


A  RENCOUNTER 

IX 

IT  was  one  o'clock  on  Saturday.  Gertrude  Lodge, 
having  been  admitted  to  the  jail  as  above  described, 
was  sitting  in  a  waiting-room  within  the  second  gate, 
which  stood  under  a  classic  archway  of  ashlar,  then 
comparatively  modern,  and  bearing  the  inscription, 
'COVNTYJAIL:  1793.'  This  had  been  the  fa$ade  she 
saw  from  the  heath  the  day  before.  Near  at  hand 
was  a  passage  to  the  roof  on  which  the  gallows  stood. 

The  town  was  thronged,  and  the  market  sus- 
pended ;  but  Gertrude  had  seen  scarcely  a  soul. 
Having  kept  her  room  till  the  hour  of  the  appoint- 
ment, she  had  proceeded  to  the  spot  by  a  way  which 
avoided  the  open  space  below  the  cliff  where  the 
spectators  had  gathered ;  but  she  could,  even  now, 
hear  the  multitudinous  babble  of  their  voices,  out  of 
which  rose  at  intervals  the  hoarse  croak  of  a  single 
voice  uttering  the  words,  '  Last  dying  speech  and 
confession ! '  There  had  been  no  reprieve,  and  the 
execution  was  over ;  but  the  crowd  still  waited  to  see 
the  body  taken  down. 

Soon  the  persistent  woman  heard  a  trampling  over- 
head, then  a  hand  beckoned  to  her,  and,  following 
directions,  she  went  out  and  crossed  the  inner  paved 
court  beyond  the  gatehouse,  her  knees  trembling  so 
that  she  could  scarcely  walk.  .  One  of  her  arms  was 
out  of  its  sleeve,  and  only  covered  by  her  shawl. 

On  the  spot  at  which  she  had  now  arrived  were 

105 


WESSEX  TALES 

two  trestles,  and  before  she  could  think  of  their 
purpose  she  heard  heavy  feet  descending  stairs  some- 
where at  her  back.  Turn  her  head  she  would  not,  or 
could  not,  and,  rigid  in  this  position,  she  was  conscious 
of  a  rough  coffin  passing  her  shoulder,  borne  by  four 
men.  It  was  open,  and  in  it  lay  the  body  of  a  young 
man,  wearing  the  smockfrock  of  a  rustic,  and  fustian 
breeches.  The  corpse  had  been  thrown  into  the  coffin 
so  hastily  that  the  skirt  of  the  smockfrock  was  hanging 
over.  The  burden  was  temporarily  deposited  on  the 
trestles. 

By  this  time  the  young  woman's  state  was  such 
that  a  gray  mist  seemed  to  float  before  her  eyes,  on 
account  of  which,  and  the  veil  she  wore,  she  could 
scarcely  discern  anything :  it  was  as  though  she  had 
nearly  died,  but  was  held  up  by  a  sort  of  galvanism. 

'  Now!'  said  a  voice  close  at  hand,  and  she  was 
just  conscious  that  the  word  had  been  addressed 
to  her. 

By  a  last  strenuous  effort  she  advanced,  at  the 
same  time  hearing  persons  approaching  behind  her. 
She  bared  her  poor  curst  arm  ;  and  Davies,  uncover- 
ing the  face  of  the  corpse,  took  Gertrude's  hand,  and 
held  it  so  that  her  arm  lay  across  the  dead  man's  neck, 
upon  a  line  the  colour  of  an  unripe  blackberry,  which 
surrounded  it. 

Gertrude  shrieked:  'the  turn  o'  the  blood,'  pre- 
dicted by  the  conjuror,  had  taken  place.  But  at  that 
moment  a  second  shriek  rent  the  air  of  the  enclosure  : 
it  was  not  Gertrude's,  and  its  effect  upon  her  was  to 
make  her  start  round. 

Immediately  behind  her  stood  Rhoda  Brook,  her 
face  drawn,  and  her  eyes  red  with  weeping.  Behind 
Rhoda  stood  Gertrude's  own  husband ;  his  counten- 
ance lined,  his  eyes  dim,  but  without  a  tear. 

'  D — n  you !  what  are  you  doing  here  ? '  he  said 
hoarsely. 

'  Hussy — to  come  between  us  and  our  child  now  ! ' 
cried  Rhoda.  '  This  is  the  meaning  of  what  Satan 

106 


THE  WITHERED  ARM 

showed  me  in  the  vision  !  You  are  like  her  at  last ! ' 
And  clutching  the  bare  arm  of  the  younger  woman, 
she  pulled  her  unresistingly  back  against  the  wall. 
Immediately  Brook  had  loosened  her  hold  the  fragile 
young  Gertrude  slid  down  against  the  feet  of  her 
husband.  When  he  lifted  her  up  she  was  unconscious. 

The  mere  sight  of  the  twain  had  been  enough  to 
suggest  to  her  that  the  dead  young  man  was  Rhoda's 
son.  At  that  time  the  relatives  of  an  executed 
convict  had  the  privilege  of  claiming  the  body  for 
burial,  if  they  chose  to  do  so ;  and  it  was  for  this 
purpose  that  Lodge  was  awaiting  the  inquest  with 
Rhoda.  He  had  been  summoned  by  her  as  soon  as 
the  young  man  was  taken  in  the  crime,  and  at 
different  times  since ;  and  he  had  attended  in  court 
during  the  trial.  This  was  the  '  holiday '  he  had  been 
indulging  in  of  late.  The  two  wretched  parents  had 
wished  to  avoid  exposure ;  and  hence  had  come 
themselves  for  the  body,  a  waggon  and  sheet  for  its 
conveyance  and  covering  being  in  waiting  outside. 

Gertrude's  case  was  so  serious  that  it  was  deemed 
advisable  to  call  to  her  the  surgeon  who  was  at  hand. 
She  was  taken  out  of  the  jail  into  the  town ;  but  she 
never  reached  home  alive.  Her  delicate  vitality, 
sapped  perhaps  by  the  paralyzed  arm,  collapsed  under 
the  double  shock  that  followed  the  severe  strain, 
physical  and  mental,  to  which  she  had  subjected  her- 
self during  the  previous  twenty-four  hours.  Her 
blood  had  been  '  turned '  indeed — too  far.  Her  death 
took  place  in  the  town  three  days  after. 

Her  husband  was  never  seen  in  Casterbridge 
again ;  once  only  in  the  old  market-place  at  Angle- 
bury,  which  he  had  so  much  frequented,  and  very 
seldom  in  public  anywhere.  Burdened  at  first  with 
moodiness  and  remorse,  he  eventually  changed  for  the 
better,  and  appeared  as  a  chastened  and  thoughtful 
man.  Soon  after  attending  the  funeral  of  his  poor 
young  wife  he  took  steps  towards  giving  up  the  farms 
in  Holmstoke  and  the  adjoining  parish,  and,  having 

107 


WESSEX  TALES 

sold  every  head  of  his  stock,  he  went  away  to  Port- 
Bredy,  at  the  other  end  of  the  county,  living  there  in 
solitary  lodgings  till  his  death  two  years  later  of  a 
painless  decline.  It  was  then  found  that  he  had 
bequeathed  the  whole  of  his  not  inconsiderable 
property  to  a  reformatory  for  boys,  subject  to  the 
payment  of  a  small  annuity  to  Rhoda  Brook,  if  she 
could  be  found  to  claim  it. 

For  some  time  she  could  not  be  found  ;  but  eventu- 
ally she  reappeared  in  her  old  parish, — absolutely 
refusing,  however,  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
provision  made  for  her.  Her  monotonous  milking  at 
the  dairy  was  resumed,  and  followed  for  many  long 
years,  till  her  form  became  bent,  and  her  once 
abundant  dark  hair  white  and  worn  away  at  the  fore- 
head— perhaps  by  long  pressure  against  the  cows. 
Here,  sometimes,  those  who  knew  her  experiences 
would  stand  and  observe  her,  and  wonder  what 
sombre  thoughts  were  beating  inside  that  impassive, 
wrinkled  brow,  to  the  rhythm  of  the  alternating 
milk-streams. 

'  Blackivood  's  Magazine? 
January  1888. 


FELLO  W-TO  WNSMEN 


FELLO IV- TO  WNSMEN 


THE  shepherd  on  the  east  hill  could  shout  out  lambing 
intelligence  to  the  shepherd  on  the  west  hill,  over 
the  intervening  town  chimneys,  without  great  incon- 
venience to  his  voice,  so  nearly  did  the  steep  pastures 
encroach  upon  the  burghers'  backyards.  And  at  night 
it  was  possible  to  stand  in  the  very  midst  of  the  town 
and  hear  from  their  native  paddocks  on  the  lower 
levels  of  greensward  the  mild  lowing  of  the  farmer's 
heifers,  and  the  profound,  warm  blowings  of  breath  in 
which  those  creatures  indulge.  But  the  community 
which  had  jammed  itself  in  the  valley  thus  flanked 
formed  a  veritable  town,  with  a  real  mayor  and 
corporation,  and  a  staple  manufacture. 

During  a  certain  damp  evening  five-and-thirty 
years  ago,  before  the  twilight  was  far  advanced,  a 
pedestrian  of  professional  appearance,  carrying  a  small 
bag  in  his  hand  and  an  elevated  umbrella,  was  descend- 
ing one  of  these  hills  by  the  turnpike  road  when  he 
was  overtaken  by  a  phaeton. 

'  Hullo,  Downe — is  that  you  ?  '  said  the  driver  of 
the  vehicle,  a  young  man  of  pale  and  refined  appear- 
ance. 'Jump  up  here  with  me,  and  ride  down  to 
your  door.' 

The  other  turned  a  plump,  cheery,  rather  self- 
indulgent  face  over  his  shoulder  towards  the  hailer. 

'  O,  good  evening,  Mr.  Barnet — thanks,'  he  said, 
and  mounted  beside  his  acquaintance. 

1 1 1 


WESSEX  TALES 

They  were  fellow-burgesses  of  the  town  which  lay 
beneath  them,  but  though  old  and  very  good  friends 
they  were  differently  circumstanced.  Barnet  was  a 
richer  man  than  the  struggling  young  lawyer  Downe, 
a  fact  which  was  to  some  extent  perceptible  in 
Downe's  manner  towards  his  companion,  though 
nothing  of  it  ever  showed  in  Barnet's  manner  towards 
the  solicitor.  Barnet's  position  in  the  town  was  none 
of  his  own  making ;  his  father  had  been  a  very 
successful  flax-merchant  in  the  same  place,  where  the 
trade  was  still  carried  on  as  briskly  as  the  small 
capacities  of  its  quarters  would  allow.  Having  ac- 
quired a  fair  fortune,  old  Mr.  Barnet  had  retired  from 
business,  bringing  up  his  son  as  a  gentleman-burgher, 
and,  it  must  be  added,  as  a  well-educa*ed,  liberal- 
minded  young  man. 

'  How  is  Mrs.  Barnet  ?  '  asked  Downe. 

'  Mrs.  Barnet  was  very  well  when  I  left  home,' 
the  other  answered  constrainedly,  exchanging  his 
meditative  regard  of  the  horse  for  one  of  self- 
consciousness. 

Mr.  Downe  seemed  to  regret  his  inquiry,  and 
immediately  took  up  another  thread  of  conversation. 
He  congratulated  his  friend  on  his  election  as  a 
councilman  ;  he  thought  he  had  not  seen  him  since 
that  event  took  place  ;  Mrs.  Downe  had  meant  to  call 
and  congratulate  Mrs.  Barnet,  but  he  feared  that  she 
had  failed  to  do  so  as  yet. 

Barnet  seemed  hampered  in  his  replies.  'We 
should  have  been  glad  to  see  you.  I  —  my  wife 
would  welcome  Mrs.  Downe  at  any  time,  as  you 
know.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  am  a  member  of  the  corporation 
— rather  an  inexperienced  member,  some  of  them  say. 
It  is  quite  true ;  and  I  should  have  declined  the 
honour  as  premature  —  having  other  things  on  my 
hands  just  now,  too — if  it  had  not  been  pressed  upon 
me  so  very  heartily.' 

'  There  is  one  thing  you  have  on  your  hands  which 
I  can  never  quite  see  the  necessity  for,'  said  Downe, 

I  12 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

with  good-humoured  freedom.  '  What  the  deuce  do 
you  want  to  build  that  new  mansion  for,  when  you 
have  already  got  such  an  excellent  house  as  the  one 
you  live  in  ?  ' 

Barnet's  face  acquired  a  warmer  shade  of  colour ; 
but  as  the  question  had  been  idly  asked  by  the  solicitor 
while  regarding  the  surrounding  flocks  and  fields,  he 
answered  after  a  moment  with  no  apparent  embarrass- 
ment— 

1  Well,  we  wanted  to  get  out  of  the  town,  you 
know ;  the  house  I  am  living  in  is  rather  old  and 
inconvenient.' 

Mr.  Downe  declared  that  he  had  chosen  a  pretty 
site  for  the  new  building.  They  would  be  able  to  see 
for  miles  and  miles  from  the  windows.  Was  he  going 
to  give  it  a  name  ?  He  supposed  so. 

Barnet  thought  not.  There  was  no  other  house 
near  that  was  likely  to  be  mistaken  for  it.  And  he 
did  not  care  for  a  name. 

'  But  I  think  it  has  a  name  ! '  Downe  observed  :  '  I 
went  past — when  was  it  ? — this  morning ;  and  I  saw 
something, — "  Chateau  Ringdale,"  I  think  it  was,  stuck 
up  on  a  board  ! ' 

'  It  was  an  idea  she — we  had  for  a  short  time,'  said 
Barnet  hastily.  '  But  we  have  decided  finally  to  do 
without  a  name — at  any  rate  such  a  name  as  that.  It 
must  have  been  a  week  ago  that  you  saw  it.  It  was 
taken  down  last  Saturday.  .  .  .  Upon  that  matter  I 
am  firm  ! '  he  added  grimly. 

Downe  murmured  in  an  unconvinced  tone  that  he 
thought  he  had  seen  it  yesterday. 

Talking  thus  they  drove  into  the  town.  The 
street  was  unusually  still  for  the  hour  of  seven  in  the 
evening ;  an  increasing  drizzle  from  the  sea  had  pre- 
vailed since  the  afternoon,  and  now  formed  a  gauze 
across  the  yellow  lamps,  and  trickled  with  a  gentle 
rattle  down  the  heavy  roofs  of  stone  tile,  that  bent 
the  house-ridges  hollow-backed  with  its  weight,  and 
in  some  instances  caused  the  walls  to  bulge  outwards 

I  I  T. 


WESSEX  TALES 

in  the  upper  story.  Their  route  took  them  past  the 
little  town-hall,  the  Black-Bull  Hotel,  and  onward  to 
the  junction  of  a  small  street  on  the  right,  consisting 
of  a  row  of  those  two-and-two  windowed  brick  resi- 
dences of  no  particular  age,  which  are  exactly  alike 
wherever  found,  except  in  the  people  they  contain. 

'Wait  —  I'll  drive  you  up  to  your  door,'  said 
Barnet,  when  Downe  prepared  to  alight  at  the  corner. 
He  thereupon  turned  into  the  narrow  street,  when  the 
faces  of  three  little  girls  could  be  discerned  close  to 
the  panes  of  a  lighted  window  a  few  yards  ahead, 
surmounted  by  that  of  a  young  matron,  the  gaze  of 
all  four  being  directed  eagerly  up  the  empty  street. 
'  You  are  a  fortunate  fellow,  Downe,'  Barnet  continued, 
as  mother  and  children  disappeared  from  the  window 
to  run  to  the  door.  '  You  must  be  happy  if  any  man 
is.  I  would  give  a  hundred  such  houses  as  my  new 
one  to  have  a  home  like  yours.' 

'  Well  —  yes,  we  get  along  pretty  comfortably, ' 
replied  Downe  complacently. 

1  That  house,  Downe,  is  none  of  my  ordering,' 
Barnet  broke  out,  revealing  a  bitterness  hitherto  sup- 
pressed, and  checking  the  horse  a  moment  to  finish 
his  speech  before  delivering  up  his  passenger.  '  The 
house  I  have  already  is  good  enough  for  me,  as  you 
supposed.  It  is  my  own  freehold  ;  it  was  built  by  my 
grandfather,  and  is  stout  enough  for  a  castle.  My 
father  was  born  there,  lived  there,  and  died  there.  I 
was  born  there,  and  have  always  lived  there ;  yet  I 
must  needs  build  a  new  one.' 

'  Why  do  you  ?  '  said  Downe. 

'  Why  do  I  ?  To  preserve  peace  in  the  house- 
hold. I  do  anything  for  that ;  but  I  don't  succeed. 
I  was  firm  in  resisting  "  Chateau  Ringdale,"  however ; 
not  that  I  would  not  have  put  up  with  the  absurdity 
of  the  name,  but  it  was  too  much  to  have  your  house 
christened  after  Lord  Ringdale,  because  your  wife 
once  had  a  fancy  for  him.  If  you  only  knew  every- 
thing, you  would  think  all  attempt  at  reconciliation 

114 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

hopeless.  In  your  happy  home  you  have  had  no  such 
experiences  ;  and  God  forbid  that  you  ever  should. 
See,  here  they  are  all  ready  to  receive  you ! ' 

'  Of  course  !  And  so  will  your  wife  be  waiting  to 
receive  you,'  said  Downe.  '  Take  my  word  for  it  she 
will !  And  with  a  dinner  prepared  for  you  far  better 
than  mine.' 

'  I  hope  so,'  Barnet  replied  dubiously. 

He  moved  on  to  Downe's  door,  which  the  solicitor's 
family  had  already  opened.  Downe  descended,  but 
being  encumbered  with  his  bag  and  umbrella,  his  foot 
slipped,  and  he  fell  upon  his  knees  in  the  gutter. 

'  O,  my  dear  Charles ! '  said  his  wife,  running  down 
the  steps ;  and,  quite  ignoring  the  presence  of  Barnet, 
she  seized  hold  of  her  husband,  pulled  him  to  his  feet, 
and  kissed  him,  exclaiming,  '  I  hope  you  are  not  hurt, 
darling ! '  The  children  crowded  round,  chiming  in 
piteously,  '  Poor  papa  ! ' 

'  He's  all  right,'  said  Barnet,  perceiving  that 
Downe  was  only  a  little  muddy,  and  looking  more  at 
the  wife  than  at  the  husband.  Almost  at  any  other 
time — certainly  during  his  fastidious  bachelor  years 
— he  would  have  thought  her  a  too  demonstrative 
woman  ;  but  those  recent  circumstances  of  his  own 
life  to  which  he  had  just  alluded  made  Mrs.  Downe's 
solicitude  so  affecting  that  his  eye  grew  damp  as  he 
witnessed  it.  Bidding  the  lawyer  and  his  family 
good-night  he  left  them,  and  drove  slowly  into  the 
main  street  towards  his  own  house. 

The  heart  of  Barnet  was  sufficiently  impressionable 
to  be  influenced  by  Downe's  parting  prophecy  that  he 
might  not  be  so  unwelcome  home  as  he  imagined  :  the 
dreary  night  might,  at  least  on  this  one  occasion,  make 
Downe's  forecast  true.  Hence  it  was  in  a  suspense 
that  he  could  hardly  have  believed  possible  that  he 
halted  at  his  door.  On  entering  his  wife  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen,  and  he  inquired  for  her.  The  servant 
informed  him  that  her  mistress  had  the  dressmaker 
with  her,  and  would  be  engaged  for  some  time. 


WESSEX  TALES 

'  Dressmaker  at  this  time  of  day  ! ' 

'  She  dined  early,  sir,  and  hopes  you  will  excuse 
her  joining  you  this  evening.' 

'  But  she  knew  I  was  coming  to-night  ? ' 

'  O  yes,  sir.' 

'  Go  up  and  tell  her  I  am  come.' 

The  servant  did  so ;  but  the  mistress  of  the  house 
merely  transmitted  her  former  words. 

Barnet  said  nothing  more,  and  presently  sat  down 
to  his  lonely  meal,  which  was  eaten  abstractedly,  the 
domestic  scene  he  had  lately  witnessed  still  impressing 
him  by  its  contrast  with  the  situation  here.  His  mind 
fell  back  into  past  years  upon  a  certain  pleasing  and 
gentle  being  whose  face  would  loom  out  of  their 
shades  at  such  times  as  these.  Barnet  turned  in  his 
chair,  and  looked  with  unfocused  eyes  in  a  direction 
southward  from  where  he  sat,  as  if  he  saw  not  the 
room  but  a  long  way  beyond.  '  I  wonder  if  she  lives 
there  still  1 '  he  said. 


II 

HE  rose  with  a  sudden  rebelliousness,  put  on  his  hat 
and  coat,  and  went  out  of  the  house,  pursuing  his  way 
along  the  glistening  pavement  while  eight  o'clock  was 
striking  from  St.  Mary's  tower,  and  the  apprentices 
and  shopmen  were  slamming  up  the  shutters  from 
end  to  end  of  the  town.  In  two  minutes  only  those 
shops  which  could  boast  of  no  attendant  save  the 
master  or  the  mistress  remained  with  open  eyes. 
These  were  ever  somewhat  less  prompt  to  exclude 
customers  than  the  others :  for  their  owners'  ears  the 
closing  hour  had  scarcely  the  cheerfulness  that  it 
possessed  for  the  hired  servants  of  the  rest.  Yet  the 
night  being  dreary  the  delay  was  not  for  long,  and 
their  windows,  too,  blinked  together  one  by  one. 

During  this  time  Barnet  had  proceeded  with 
decided  step  in  a  direction  at  right  angles  to  the 
broad  main  thoroughfare  of  the  town,  by  a  long  street 
leading  due  southward.  Here,  though  his  family  had 
no  more  to  do  with  the  flax  manufacture,  his  own 
name  occasionally  greeted  him  on  gates  and  ware- 
houses, being  used  allusively  by  small  rising  trades- 
men as  a  recommendation,  in  such  words  as  '  Smith, 
from  Barnet  &  Co.' — '  Robinson,  late  manager  at 
Barnet's.'  The  sight  led  him  to  reflect  upon  his 
father's  busy  life,  and  he  questioned  if  it  had  not  been 
far  happier  than  his  own. 

The  houses  along  the  road  became  fewer,  and 
presently  open  ground  appeared  between  them  on 
either  side,  the  track  on  the  right  hand  rising  to  a 

117 


WESSEX  TALES 

higher  level  till  it  merged  in  a  knoll.  On  the  summit 
a  row  of  builders'  scaffold-poles  probed  the  indistinct 
sky  like  spears,  and  at  their  bases  could  be  discerned 
the  lower  courses  of  a  building  lately  begun.  Barnet 
slackened  his  pace  and  stood  for  a  few  moments  with- 
out leaving  the  centre  of  the  road,  apparently  not 
much  interested  in  the  sight,  till  suddenly  his  eye 
was  caught  by  a  post  in  the  fore  part  of  the  ground 
bearing  a  white  board  at  the  top.  He  went  to  the 
rails,  vaulted  over,  and  walked  in  far  enough  to  dis- 
cern painted  upon  the  board  '  Chateau  Ringdale.' 

A  dismal  irony  seemed  to  lie  in  the  words,  and  its 
effect  was  to  irritate  him.  Downe,  then,  had  spoken 
truly.  He  stuck  his  umbrella  into  the  sod,  and  seized 
the  post  with  both  hands,  as  if  intending  to  loosen 
and  throw  it  down.  Then,  like  one  bewildered  by  an 
opposition  which  would  exist  none  the  less  though  its 
manifestations  were  removed,  he  allowed  his  arms  to 
sink  to  his  side. 

'  Let  it  be,'  he  said  to  himself.  '  I  have  declared 
there  shall  be  peace — if  possible.' 

Taking  up  his  umbrella  he  quietly  left  the  en- 
closure, and  went  on  his  way,  still  keeping  his  back 
to  the  town.  He  had  advanced  with  more  decision 
since  passing  the  new  building,  and  soon  a  hoarse 
murmur  rose  upon  the  gloom ;  it  was  the  sound  of 
the  sea.  The  road  led  to  the  harbour,  at  a  distance 
of  a  mile  from  the  town,  from  which  the  trade  of  the 
district  was  fed.  After  seeing  the  obnoxious  name- 
board  Barnet  had  forgotten  to  open  his  umbrella,  and 
the  rain  tapped  smartly  on  his  hat,  and  occasionally 
stroked  his  face  as  he  went  on. 

Though  the  lamps  were  still  continued  at  the 
roadside  they  stood  at  wider  intervals  than  before, 
and  the  pavement  had  given  place  to  rough  gravel. 
Every  time  he  came  to  a  lamp  an  increasing  shine 
made  itself  visible  upon  his  shoulders,  till  at  last  they 
quite  glistened  with  wet.  The  murmur  from  the 
shore  grew  stronger,  but  it  was  still  some  distance 

118 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

off  when  he  paused  before  one  of  the  smallest  of  the 
detached  houses  by  the  wayside,  standing  in  its  own 
garden,  the  latter  being  divided  from  the  road  by  a 
row  of  wooden  palings.  Scrutinizing  the  spot  to 
ensure  that  he  was  not  mistaken,  he  opened  the  gate 
and  gently  knocked  at  the  cottage  door. 

When  he  had  patiently  waited  minutes  enough  to 
lead  any  man  in  ordinary  cases  to  knock  again,  the 
door  was  heard  to  open,  though  it  was  impossible 
to  see  by  whose  hand,  there  being  no  light  in  the 
passage.  Barnet  said  at  random,  '  Does  Miss  Savile 
live  here  ? ' 

A  youthful  voice  assured  him  that  she  did  live 
there,  and  by  a  sudden  afterthought  asked  him  to 
come  in.  It  would  soon  get  a  light,  it  said :  but  the 
night  being  wet,  mother  had  not  thought  it  worth 
while  to  trim  the  passage  lamp. 

'  Don't  trouble  yourself  to  get  a  light  for  me,'  said 
Barnet  hastily  ;  '  it  is  not  necessary  at  all.  Which  is 
Miss  Savile's  sitting-room  ?  ' 

The  young  person,  whose  white  pinafore  could 
just  be  discerned,  signified  a  door  in  the  side  of  the 
passage,  and  Barnet  went  forward  at  the  same  moment, 
so  that  no  light  should  fall  upon  his  face.  On  entering 
the  room  he  closed  the  door  behind  him,  pausing  till 
he  heard  the  retreating  footsteps  of  the  child. 

He  found  himself  in  an  apartment  which  was 
simply  and  neatly,  though  not  poorly  furnished ; 
everything,  from  the  miniature  chiffonnier  to  the 
shining  little  daguerreotype  which  formed  the  central 
ornament  of  the  mantelpiece,  being  in  scrupulous 
order.  The  picture  was  enclosed  by  a  frame  of  em- 
broidered card-board — evidently  the  work  of  feminine 
hands — and  it  was  the  portrait  of  a  thin  faced,  elderly 
lieutenant  in  the  navy.  From  behind  the  lamp  on 
the  table  a  female  form  now  rose  into  view,  that  of  a 
young  girl,  and  a  resemblance  between  her  and  the 
portrait  was  early  discoverable.  She  had  been  so 
absorbed  in  some  occupation  on  the  other  side  of  the 

119 


WESSEX  TALES 

lamp   as   to   have    barely  found    time  to  realize  her 
visitor's  presence. 

They  both  remained  standing  for  a  few  seconds 
without  speaking.  The  face  that  confronted  Barnet 
had  a  beautiful  outline ;  the  Raffaelesque  oval  of  its 
contour  was  remarkable  for  an  English  countenance, 
and  that  countenance  housed  in  a  remote  country-road 
to  an  unheard-of  harbour.  But  her  features  did  not 
do  justice  to  this  splendid  beginning :  Nature  had 
recollected  that  she  was  not  in  Italy ;  and  the  young 
lady's  lineaments,  though  not  so  inconsistent  as  to 
make  her  plain,  would  have  been  accepted  rather  as 
pleasing  than  as  correct.  The  preoccupied  expression 
which,  like  images  on  the  retina,  remained  with  her 
for  a  moment  after  the  state  that  caused  it  had  ceased, 
now  changed  into  a  reserved,  half-proud,  and  slightly 
indignant  look,  in  which  the  blood  diffused  itself 
quickly  across  her  cheek,  and  additional  brightness 
broke  the  shade  of  her  rather  heavy  eyes. 

'  I  know  I  have  no  business  here,'  he  said,  answer- 
ing the  look.  '  But  I  had  a  great  wish  to  see  you, 
and  inquire  how  you  were.  You  can  give  your  hand 
to  me,  seeing  how  often  I  have  held  it  in  past  days  ? ' 

'  I  would  rather  forget  than  remember  all  that,  Mr. 
Barnet,'  she  answered,  as  she  coldly  complied  with  the 
request.  '  When  I  think  of  the  circumstances  of  our 
last  meeting,  I  can  hardly  consider  it  kind  of  you  to 
allude  to  such  a  thing  as  our  past — or,  indeed,  to  come 
here  at  all.' 

I  There  was  no  harm  in  it  surely  ?     I  don't  trouble 
you  often,  Lucy.' 

I 1  have  not  had  the  honour  of  a  visit  from  you  for 
a  very  long  time,  certainly,  and  I  did  not  expect  it 
now,'  she  said,  with  the  same  stiffness  in  her  air.     '  I 
hope  Mrs.  Barnet  is  very  well  ? ' 

4  Yes,  yes ! '  he  impatiently  returned.  '  At  least  I 
suppose  so — though  I  only  speak  from  inference ! 

'  But  she  is  your  wife,  sir,'  said  the  young  girl 
tremulously. 

120 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

The  unwonted  tones  of  a  man's  voice  in  that 
feminine  chamber  had  startled  a  canary  that  was 
roosting  in  its  cage  by  the  window ;  the  bird  awoke 
hastily,  and  fluttered  against  the  bars.  She  went  and 
stilled  it  by  laying  her  face  against  the  cage  and 
murmuring  a  coaxing  sound.  It  might  partly  have 
been  done  to  still  herself. 

'  I  didn't  come  to  talk  of  Mrs.  Barnet,'  he  pursued  ; 
'  I  came  to  talk  of  you,  of  yourself  alone  ;  to  inquire 
how  you  are  getting  on  since  your  great  loss.'  And 
he  turned  towards  the  portrait  of  her  father. 

'  I  am  getting  on  fairly  well,  thank  you.' 

The  force  of  her  utterance  was  scarcely  borne  out 
by  her  look ;  but  Barnet  courteously  reproached  him- 
self for  not  having  guessed  a  thing  so  natural ;  and  to 
dissipate  all  embarrassment  added,  as  he  bent  over 
the  table,  '  What  were  you  doing  when  I  came  ? — 
painting  flowers,  and  by  candlelight  ? ' 

'  O  no/  she  said,  '  not  painting  them — only  sketch- 
ing the  outlines.  I  do  that  at  night  to  save  time — I 
have  to  get  three  dozen  done  by  the  end  of  the 
month.' 

Barnet  looked  as  if  he  regretted  it  deeply.  '  You 
will  wear  your  poor  eyes  out,'  he  said,  with  more 
sentiment  than  he  had  hitherto  shown.  '  You  ought 
not  to  do  it.  There  was  a  time  when  I  should  have 
said  you  must  not.  Well — I  almost  wish  I  had  never 
seen  light  with  my  own  eyes  when  I  think  of  that ! ' 

'Is  this  a  time  or  place  for  recalling  such  matters?' 
she  asked,  with  dignity.  '  You  used  to  have  a  gentle- 
manly respect  for  me,  and  for  yourself.  Don't  speak 
any  more  as  you  have  spoken,  and  don't  come  again. 
I  cannot  think  that  this  visit  is  serious,  or  was  closely 
considered  by  you.' 

'  Considered :  well,  I  came  to  see  you  as  an  old 
and  good  friend — not  to  mince  matters,  to  visit  a 
woman  I  loved.  Don't  be  angry !  I  could  not 
help  doing  it,  so  many  things  brought  you  into  my 
mind.  .  .  .  This  evening  I  fell  in  with  an  acquaint- 

121 


WESSEX  TALES 

ance,  and  when  I  saw  how  happy  he  was  with  his 
wife  and  family  welcoming  him  home,  though  with 
only  one-tenth  of  my  income  and  chances,  and  thought 
what  might  have  been  in  my  case,  it  fairly  broke 
down  my  discretion,  and  off  I  came  here.  Now  I 
am  here  I  feel  that  I  am  wrong  to  some  extent. 
But  the  feeling  that  I  should  like  to  see  you,  and 
talk  of  those  we  used  to  know  in  common,  was  very 
strong.' 

'  Before  that  can  be  the  case  a  little  more  time 
must  pass,'  said  Miss  Savile  quietly ;  '  a  time  long 
enough  for  me  to  regard  with  some  calmness  what  at 
present  I  remember  far  too  impatiently — though  it 
may  be  you  almost  forget  it.  Indeed  you  must  have 
forgotten  it  long  before  you  acted  as  you  did.'  Her 
voice  grew  stronger  and  more  vivacious  as  she  added: 
'  But  I  am  doing  my  best  to  forget  it  too,  and  I  know 
I  shall  succeed  from  the  progress  I  have  made 
already  ! ' 

She  had  remained  standing  till  now,  when  she 
turned  and  sat  down,  facing  half  away  from  him. 

Barnet  watched  her  moodily.  '  Yes,  it  is  only 
what  I  deserve,'  he  said.  '  Ambition  pricked  me  on — 
no,  it  was  not  ambition,  it  was  wrongheadedness ! 
Had  I  but  reflected.  .  .  .'  He  broke  out  vehemently  : 
'  But  always  remember  this,  Lucy  :  if  you  had  written 
to  me  only  one  little  line  after  that  misunderstanding, 
I  declare  I  should  have  come  back  to  you.  That 
ruined  me ! '  He  slowly  walked  as  far  as  the  little 
room  would  allow  him  to  go,  and  remained  with  his 
eyes  on  the  skirting. 

'  But,  Mr.  Barnet,  how  could  I  write  to  you  ? 
There  was  no  opening  for  my  doing  so.' 

'  Then  there  ought  to  have  been,'  said  Barnet, 
turning.  '  That  was  my  fault ! ' 

'  Well,  I  don't  know  anything  about  that ;  but  as 
there  had  been  nothing  said  by  me  which  required 
any  explanation  by  letter,  I  did  not  send  one.  Every- 
thing was  so  indefinite,  and  feeling  your  position  to 

122 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

be  so  much  wealthier  than  mine,  I  fancied  I  might 
have  mistaken  your  meaning.  And  when  I  heard  of 
the  other  lady — a  woman  of  whose  family  even  you 
might  be  proud — I  thought  how  foolish  I  had  been, 
and  said  nothing.' 

'Then  I  suppose  it  was  destiny — accident — I 
don't  know  what,  that  separated  us,  dear  Lucy. 
Anyhow  you  were  the  woman  I  ought  to  have  made 
my  wife — and  I  let  you  slip,  like  the  foolish  man  that 
I  was ! ' 

'  O,  Mr.  Barnet,'  she  said,  almost  in  tears,  '  don't 
revive  the  subject  to  me ;  I  am  the  wrong  one  to 
console  you — think,  sir, — you  should  not  be  here — it 
would  be  so  bad  for  me  if  it  were  known  ! ' 

'  It  would — it  would,  indeed,'  he  said  hastily.  *  I 
am  not  right  in  doing  this,  and  I  won't  do  it  again.' 

'It  is  a  very  common  folly  of  human  nature,  you 
know,  to  think  the  course  you  did  not  adopt  must 
have  been  the  best,'  she  continued,  with  gentle 
solicitude,  as  she  followed  him  to  the  door  of  the 
room.  '  And  you  don't  know  that  I  should  have 
accepted  you,  even  if  you  had  asked  me  to  be  your 
wife.'  At  this  his  eye  met  hers,  and  she  dropped  her 
gaze.  She  knew  that  her  voice  belied  her.  There 
was  a  silence  till  she  looked  up  to  add,  in  a  voice  of 
soothing  playfulness,  '  My  family  was  so  much  poorer 
than  yours,  even  before  I  lost  my  dear  father,  that — 
perhaps  your  companions  would  have  made  it  un- 
pleasant for  us  on  account  of  my  deficiencies.' 

'  Your  disposition  would  soon  have  won  them 
round,'  said  Barnet. 

She  archly  expostulated :  '  Now,  never  mind  my 
disposition  ;  try  to  make  it  up  with  your  wife  !  Those 
are  my  commands  to  you.  And  now  you  are  to  leave 
me  at  once.' 

1 1  will.  I  must  make  the  best  of  it  all,  I  suppose,' 
he  replied,  more  cheerfully  than  he  had  as  yet  spoken. 
1  But  I  shall  never  again  meet  with  such  a  dear  girl  as 
you ! '  And  he  suddenly  opened  the  door,  and  left 

123 


WESSEX  TALES 

her  alone.  When  his  glance  again  fsll  on  the  lamps 
that  were  sparsely  ranged  along  the  dreary  level  road, 
his  eyes  were  in  a  state  which  showed  straw-like 
motes  of  light  radiating  from  each  flame  into  the 
surrounding  air. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  way  Barnet  observed  a 
man  under  an  umbrella,  walking  parallel  with  himself. 
Presently  this  man  left  the  footway,  and  gradually 
converged  on  Barnet's  course.  The  latter  then  saw 
that  it  was  Charlson,  a  surgeon  of  the  town,  who  owed 
him  money.  Charlson  was  a  man  not  without  ability ; 
yet  he  did  not  prosper.  Sundry  circumstances  stood 
in  his  way  as  a  medical  practitioner  :  he  was  needy ;  he 
was  not  a  coddle  ;  he  gossiped  with  men  instead  of  with 
women  ;  he  had  married  a  stranger  instead  of  one  of 
the  town  young  ladies ;  and  he  was  given  to  conver- 
sational buffoonery.  Moreover,  his  look  was  quite 
erroneous.  Those  only  proper  features  in  the  family 
doctor,  the  quiet  eye,  and  the  thin  straight  passionless 
lips  which  never  curl  in  public  either  for  laughter  or 
for  scorn,  were  not  his ;  he  had  a  full-curved  mouth, 
and  a  bold  black  eye  that  made  timid  people  nervous. 
His  companions  were  what  in  old  times  would  have 
been  called  boon  companions — an  expression  which, 
though  of  irreproachable  root,  suggests  fraternization 
carried  to  the  point  of  unscrupulousness.  All  this  was 
against  him  in  the  little  town  of  his  adoption. 

Charlson  had  been  in  difficulties,  and  to  oblige 
him  Barnet  had  put  his  name  to  a  bill ;  and,  as  he 
had  expected,  was  called  upon  to  meet  it  when  it  fell 
due.  It  had  been  only  a  matter  of  fifty  pounds,  which 
Barnet  could  well  afford  to  lose,  and  he  bore  no  ill- 
will  to  the  thriftless  surgeon  on  account  of  it.  But 
Charlson  had  a  little  too  much  brazen  indifferentism 
in  his  composition  to  be  altogether  a  desirable 
acquaintance. 

'  I  hope  to  be  able  to  make  that  little  bill-business 
right  with  you  in  the  course  of  three  weeks,  Mr. 
Barnet,'  said  Charlson  with  hail-fellow  friendliness. 

124 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

Barnet  replied  good-naturedly  that  there  was  no 
hurry. 

This  particular  three  weeks  had  moved  on  in 
advance  of  Charlson's  present  with  the  precision  of 
a  shadow  for  some  considerable  time. 

'  I've  had  a  dream,'  Charlson  continued.  Barnet 
knew  from  his  tone  that  the  surgeon  was  going  to 
begin  his  characteristic  nonsense,  and  did  not  en- 
courage him.  '  I've  had  a  dream,'  repeated  Charlson, 
who  required  no  encouragement.  '  I  dreamed  that  a 
gentleman,  who  has  been  very  kind  to  me,  married  a 
haughty  lady  in  haste,  before  he  had  quite  forgotten 
a  nice  little  girl  he  knew  before,  and  that  one  wet 
evening,  like  the  present,  as  I  was  walking  up  the 
harbour-road,  I  saw  him  come  out  of  that  dear  little 
girl's  present  abode.' 

Barnet  glanced  towards  the  speaker.  The  rays 
from  a  neighbouring  lamp  struck  through  the  drizzle 
under  Charlson's  umbrella,  so  as  just  to  illumine  his 
face  against  the  shade  behind,  and  show  that  his  eye 
was  turned  up  under  the  outer  corner  of  its  lid, 
whence  it  leered  with  impish  jocoseness  as  he  thrust 
his  tongue  into  his  cheek. 

'  Come,'  said  Barnet  gravely,  '  we'll  have  no  more 
of  that.' 

c  No,  no — of  course  not,'  Charlson  hastily  answered, 
seeing  that  his  humour  had  carried  him  too  far,  as  it 
had  done  many  times  before.  He  was  profuse  in  his 
apologies,  but  Barnet  did  not  reply.  Of  one  thing 
he  was  certain — that  scandal  was  a  plant  of  quick 
root,  and  that  he  was  bound  to  obey  Lucy's  injunction 
for  Lucy's  own  sake. 


Ill 

HE  did  so,  to  the  letter ;  and  though,  as  the  crocus 
followed  the  snowdrop  and  the  daffodil  the  crocus  in 
Lucy's  garden,  the  harbour-road  was  a  not  unpleasant 
place  to  walk  in,  Barnet's  feet  never  trod  its  stones, 
much  less  approached  her  door.  He  avoided  a 
saunter  that  way  as  he  would  have  avoided  a  danger- 
ous dram,  and  took  his  airings  a  long  distance  north- 
ward, among  severely  square  and  brown  ploughed 
fields,  where  no  other  townsman  came.  Sometimes 
he  went  round  by  the  lower  lanes  of  the  borough, 
where  the  rope-walks  stretched  in  which  his  family 
formerly  had  share,  and  looked  at  the  rope-makers 
walking  backwards,  overhung  by  apple-trees  and 
bushes,  and  intruded  on  by  cows  and  calves,  as  if 
trade  had  established  itself  there  at  considerable 
inconvenience  to  Nature. 

One  morning,  when  the  sun  was  so  warm  as  to 
raise  a  steam  from  the  south-eastern  slopes  of  those 
flanking  hills  that  looked  so  lovely  above  the  old 
roofs,  but  made  every  low-chimneyed  house  in  the 
town  as  smoky  as  Tophet,  Barnet  glanced  from  the 
windows  of  the  town-council  room  for  lack  of  interest 
in  what  was  proceeding  within.  Several  members 
of  the  corporation  were  present,  but  there  was  not 
much  business  doing,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Downe 
came  leisurely  across  to  him,  saying  that  he  seldom 
saw  Barnet  now. 

Barnet  owned  that  he  was  not  often  present. 

Downe  looked  at  the  crimson  curtain  which  hung 

126 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

down  beside  the  panes,  reflecting  its  hot  hues  into 
their  faces,  and  then  out  of  the  window.  At  that 
moment  there  passed  along  the  street  a  tall  com- 
manding lady,  in  whom  the  solicitor  recognized 
Barnet's  wife.  Barnet  had  done  the  same  thing,  and 
turned  away. 

1  It  will  be  all  right  some  day,'  said  Downe,  with 
cheering  sympathy. 

'You  have  heard,  then,  of  her  last  outbreak?' 

Downe  depressed  his  cheerfulness  to  its  very 
reverse  in  a  moment.  'No,  I  have  not  heard  of 
anything  serious,'  he  said,  with  as  long  a  face  as  one 
naturally  round  could  be  turned  into  at  short  notice. 
1 1  only  hear  vague  reports  of  such  things.' 

'  You  may  think  it  will  be  all  right,'  said  Barnet 
drily.  '  But  I  have  a  different  opinion.  .  .  .  No, 
Downe,  we  must  look  the  thing  in  the  face.  Not 
poppy  nor  mandragora — however,  how  are  your  wife 
and  children  ? ' 

Downe  said  that  they  were  all  well,  thanks ;  they 
were  out  that  morning  somewhere ;  he  was  just 
looking  to  see  if  they  were  walking  that  way.  Ah, 
there  they  were,  just  coming  down  the  street ;  and 
Downe  pointed  to  the  figures  of  two  children  with 
a  nursemaid,  and  a  lady  walking  behind  them. 

'  You  will  come  out  and  speak  to  her  ? '  he  asked. 

4  Not  this  morning.  The  fact  is  I  don't  care  to 
speak  to  anybody  just  now.' 

'  You  are  too  sensitive,  Mr.  Barnet.  At  school 
I  remember  you  used  to  get  as  red  as  a  rose  if  any- 
body uttered  a  word  that  hurt  your  feelings.' 

Barnet  mused.  '  Yes,'  he  admitted,  '  there  is  a 
grain  of  truth  in  that.  It  is  because  of  that  I 
often  try  to  make  peace  at  home.  Life  would  be 
tolerable  then  at  any  rate,  even  if  not  particularly 
bright.' 

'  I  have  thought  more  than  once  of  proposing  a 
little  plan  to  you,'  said  Downe  with  some  hesitation. 
'  I  don't  know  whether  it  will  meet  your  views,  but 

127 


WESSEX  TALES 

take  it  or  leave  it,  as  you  choose.  In  fact,  it  was 
my  wife  who  suggested  it :  that  she  would  be  very 
glad  to  call  on  Mrs.  Barnet  and  get  into  her  con- 
fidence. She  seems  to  think  that  Mrs.  Barnet  is 
rather  alone  in  the  town,  and  without  advisers.  Her 
impression  is  that  your  wife  will  listen  to  reason. 
Emily  has  a  wonderful  way  of  winning  the  hearts 
of  people  of  her  own  sex. 

'And  of  the  other  sex  too,  I  think.  She  is  a 
charming  woman,  and  you  were  a  lucky  fellow  to 
find  her.' 

'  Well,  perhaps  I  was,'  simpered  Downe,  trying 
to  wear  an  aspect  of  being  the  last  man  in  the  world 
to  feel  pride.  '  However,  she  will  be  likely  to  find 
out  what  ruffles  Mrs.  Barnet.  Perhaps  it  is  some 
misunderstanding,  you  know — something  that  she  is 
too  proud  to  ask  you  to  explain,  or  some  little  thing 
in  your  conduct  that  irritates  her  because  she  does 
not  fully  comprehend  you.  The  truth  is,  Emily 
would  have  been  more  ready  to  make  advances  if 
she  had  been  quite  sure  of  her  fitness  for  Mrs. 
Barnet's  society,  who  has  of  course  been  accustomed 
to  London  people  of  good  position,  which  made  Emily 
fearful  of  intruding.' 

Barnet  expressed  his  warmest  thanks  for  the  well- 
intentioned  proposition.  There  was  reason  in  Mrs. 
Downe's  fear — that  he  owned.  '  But  do  let  her  call,' 
he  said.  '  There  is  no  woman  in  England  I  would 
so  soon  trust  on  such  an  errand.  I  am  afraid  there 
will  not  be  any  brilliant  result ;  still  I  shall  take  it 
as  the  kindest  and  nicest  thing  if  she  will  try  it,  and 
not  be  frightened  at  a  repulse.1 

When  Barnet  and  Downe  had  parted,  the  former 
went  to  the  Town  Savings-Bank,  of  which  he  was 
a  trustee,  and  endeavoured  to  forget  his  troubles  in 
the  contemplation  of  low  sums  of  money,  and  figures 
in  a  network  of  red  and  blue  lines.  He  sat  and 
watched  the  working-people  making  their  deposits,  to 
which  at  intervals  he  signed  his  name.  Before  he 

128 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

left  in  the  afternoon  Downe  put  his  head  inside  the 
door. 

'  Emily  has  seen  Mrs.  Barnet,'  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  '  She  has  got  Mrs.  Barnet's  promise  to  take 
her  for  a  drive  down  to  the  shore  to-morrow,  if  it  is 
fine.  Good  afternoon  ! ' 

Barnet  shook  Downe  by  the  hand  without  speak- 
ing, and  Downe  went  away. 


IV 

THE  next  day  was  as  fine  as  the  arrangement  could 
possibly  require.  As  the  sun  passed  the  meridian  and 
declined  westward,  the  tall  shadows  from  the  scaffold- 
poles  of  Barnet's  rising  residence  streaked  the  ground 
as  far  as  to  the  middle  of  the  highway.  Barnet  him- 
self was  there  inspecting  the  progress  of  the  works  for 
the  first  time  during  several  weeks.  A  building  in  an 
old-fashioned  town  five-and-thirty  years  ago  did  not,  as 
in  the  modern  fashion,  rise  from  the  sod  like  a  booth 
at  a  fair.  The  foundations  and  lower  courses  were  put 
in  and  allowed  to  settle  for  many  weeks  before  the 
superstructure  was  built  up,  and  a  whole  summer  of 
drying  was  hardly  sufficient  to  do  justice  to  the  impor- 
tant issues  involved.  Barnet  stood  within  a  window- 
niche  which  had  as  yet  received  no  frame,  and  thence 
looked  down  a  slope  into  the  road.  The  wheels  of  a 
chaise  were  heard,  and  then  his  handsome  Xantippe, 
in  the  company  of  Mrs.  Downe,  drove  past  on  their 
way  to  the  shore.  They  were  driving  slowly  ;  there 
was  a  pleasing  light  in  Mrs.  Downe's  face,  which 
seemed  faintly  to  reflect  itself  upon  the  countenance 
of  her  companion — \h&\.  politesse  du  cceur  which  was  so 
natural  to  her  having  possibly  begun  already  to  work 
results.  But  whatever  the  situation,  Barnet  resolved 
not  to  interfere,  or  do  anything  to  hazard  the  promise 
of  the  day.  He  might  well  afford  to  trust  the  issue  to 
another  when  he  could  never  direct  it  but  to  ill  himself. 
His  wife's  clenched  rein-hand  in  its  lemon-coloured 
glove,  her  stiff  erect  figure,  clad  in  velvet  and  lace, 

130 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

and  her  boldly-outlined  face,  passed  on,  exhibiting 
their  owner  as  one  fixed  for  ever  above  the  level  of 
her  companion — socially  by  her  early  breeding,  and 
materially  by  her  higher  cushion. 

Barnet  decided  to  allow  them  a  proper  time  to 
themselves,  and  then  stroll  down  to  the  shore  and 
drive  them  home.  After  lingering  on  at  the  house  for 
another  hour  he  started  with  this  intention.  A  few 
hundred  yards  below  '  Chateau  Ringdale '  stood  the 
cottage  in  which  the  late  lieutenant's  daughter  had  her 
lodging.  Barnet  had  not  been  so  far  that  way  for  a 
long  time,  and  as  he  approached  the  forbidden  ground 
a  curious  warmth  passed  into  him,  which  led  him  to 
perceive  that,  unless  he  were  careful,  he  might  have  to 
fight  the  battle  with  himself  about  Lucy  over  again. 
A  tenth  of  his  present  excuse  would,  however,  have 
justified  him  in  travelling  by  that  road  to-day. 

He  came  opposite  the  dwelling,  and  turned  his  eyes 
for  a  momentary  glance  into  the  little  garden  that 
stretched  from  the  palings  to  the  door.  Lucy  was  in 
the  enclosure  ;  she  was  walking  and  stooping  to  gather 
some  flowers,  possibly  for  the  purpose  of  painting  them, 
for  she  moved  about  quickly,  as  if  anxious  to  save  time. 
She  did  not  see  him  ;  he  might  have  passed  unnoticed  ; 
but  a  sensation  which  was  not  in  strict  unison  with  his 
previous  sentiments  that  day  led  him  to  pause  in  his 
walk  and  watch  her.  She  went  nimbly  round  and 
round  the  beds  of  anemones,  tulips,  jonquils,  polyan- 
thuses, and  other  old-fashioned  flowers,  looking  a  very 
charming  figure  in  her  half-mourning  bonnet,  and  with 
an  incomplete  nosegay  in  her  left  hand.  Raising  her- 
self to  pull  down  a  lilac  blossom  she  observed  him. 

'  Mr.  Barnet ! '  she  said,  innocently  smiling.  '  Why, 
I  have  been  thinking  of  you  many  times  since  Mrs. 
Barnet  went  by  in  the  pony-carriage,  and  now  here 
you  are ! ' 

'  Yes,  Lucy,'  he  said. 

Then  she  seemed  to  recall  particulars  of  their  last 
meeting,  and  he  believed  that  she  flushed,  though  it 


WESSEX  TALES 

might  have  been  only  the  fancy  of  his  own  super- 
sensitiveness. 

'  I  am  going  to  the  harbour,'  he  added. 

4  Are  you  ? '  Lucy  remarked  simply.  '  A  great 
many  people  begin  to  go  there  now  the  summer  is 
drawing  on.' 

Her  face  had  come  more  into  his  view  as  she  spoke, 
and  he  noticed  how  much  thinner  and  paler  it  was  than 
when  he  had  seen  it  last.  '  Lucy,  how  weary  you  look  ! 
tell  me,  can  I  help  you  ? '  he  was  going  to  cry  out. — 
'  If  I  do,'  he  thought,  '  it  will  be  the  ruin  of  us  both  ! ' 
He  merely  said  that  the  afternoon  was  fine,  and  went 
on  his  way. 

As  he  went  a  sudden  blast  of  air  came  over  the 
hill  as  if  in  contradiction  to  his  words,  and  spoilt  the 
previous  quiet  of  the  scene.  The  wind  had  already 
shifted  violently,  and  now  smelt  of  the  sea. 

The  harbour-road  soon  began  to  justify  its  name. 
A  gap  appeared  in  the  rampart  of  hills  which  shut  out 
the  sea,  and  on  the  left  of  the  opening  rose  a  vertical 
cliff,  coloured  a  burning  orange  by  the  sunlight,  the 
companion  cliff  on  the  right  being  livid  in  shade.  Be- 
tween these  cliffs,  like  the  Libyan  bay  which  sheltered 
the  shipwrecked  Trojans,  was  a  little  haven,  seemingly 
a  beginning  made  by  Nature  herself  of  a  perfect  har- 
bour, which  appealed  to  the  passer-by  as  only  requiring 
a  little  human  industry  to  finish  it  and  make  it  famous, 
the  ground  on  each  side  as  far  back  as  the  daisied  slopes 
that  bounded  the  interior  valley  being  a  mere  layer  of 
blown  sand.  But  the  Port-Bredy  burgesses  a  mile 
inland  had,  in  the  course  of  ten  centuries,  responded 
many  times  to  that  mute  appeal,  with  the  result  that  the 
tides  had  invariably  choked  up  their  works  with  sand 
and  shingle  as  soon  as  completed.  There  were  but  few 
houses  here  :  a  rough  pier,  a  few  boats,  some  stores,  an 
inn,  a  residence  or  two,  a  ketch  unloading  in  the  harbour, 
were  the  chief  features  of  the  settlement.  On  the 
open  ground  by  the  shore  stood  his  wife's  pony-carriage, 
empty,  the  boy  in  attendance  holding  the  horse 

132 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

When  Barnet  drew  nearer,  he  saw  an  indigo- 
coloured  spot  moving  swiftly  along  beneath  the  radiant 
base  of  the  eastern  cliff,  which  proved  to  be  a  man  in 
a  jersey,  running  with  all  his  might.  He  held  up  his 
hand  to  Barnet,  as  it  seemed,  and  they  approached 
each  other.  The  man  was  local,  but  a  stranger  to  him. 

'  What  is  it,  my  man  ? '  said  Barnet. 

'A  terrible  calamity!'  the  boatman  hastily  explained. 
Two  ladies  had  been  capsized  in  a  boat — they  were 
Mrs.  Downe  and  Mrs.  Barnet  of  the  old  town ;  they 
had  driven  down  there  that  afternoon  —  they  had 
alighted,  and  it  was  so  fine,  that,  after  walking  about  a 
little  while,  they  had  been  tempted  to  go  out  for  a  short 
sail  round  the  cliff.  Just  as  they  were  putting  in  to  the 
shore,  the  wind  shifted  with  a  sudden  gust,  the  boat 
listed  over,  and  it  was  thought  they  were  both  drowned. 
How  it  could  have  happened  was  beyond  his  mind  to 
fathom,  for  John  Green  knew  how  to  sail  a  boat  as 
well  as  any  man  there. 

'  Which  is  the  way  to  the  place? '  said  Barnet. 

It  was  just  round  the  cliff. 

'  Run  to  the  carriage  and  tell  the  boy  to  bring  it 
to  the  place  as  soon  as  you  can.  Then  go  to  the 
Harbour  Inn  and  tell  them  to  ride  to  town  for  a  doctor. 
Have  they  been  got  out  of  the  water  ? ' 

'One  lady  has.' 

'Which?' 

'  Mrs.  Barnet.  Mrs.  Downe,  it  is  feared,  has  fleeted 
out  to  sea.' 

Barnet  ran  on  to  that  part  of  the  shore  which  the 
cliff  had  hitherto  obscured  from  his  view,  and  there 
discerned,  a  long  way  ahead,  a  group  of  fishermen 
standing.  As  soon  as  he  came  up  one  or  two  recog- 
nized him,  and,  not  liking  to  meet  his  eye,  turned  aside 
with  misgiving.  He  went  amidst  them  and  saw  a  small 
sailing-boat  lying  draggled  at  the  water's  edge  ;  and, 
on  the  sloping  shingle  beside  it,  a  soaked  and  sandy 
woman's  form  in  the  velvet  dress  and  yellow  gloves  of 
his  wife. 

133 


ALL  had  been  done  that  could  be  done.  Mrs.  Barnet 
was  in  her  own  house  under  medical  hands,  but  the 
result  was  still  uncertain.  Barnet  had  acted  as  if 
devotion  to  his  wife  were  the  dominant  passion  of  his 
existence.  There  had  been  much  to  decide — whether 
to  attempt  restoration  of  the  apparently  lifeless  body 
as  it  lay  on  the  shore — whether  to  carry  her  to  the 
Harbour  Inn — whether  to  drive  with  her  at  once  to 
his  own  house.  The  first  course,  with  no  skilled  help 
or  appliances  near  at  hand,  had  seemed  hopeless.  The 
second  course  would  have  occupied  nearly  as  much 
time  as  a  drive  to  the  town,  owing  to  the  intervening 
ridges  of  shingle,  and  the  necessity  of  crossing  the 
harbour  by  boat  to  get  to  the  house,  added  to  which 
much  time  must  have  elapsed  before  a  doctor  could 
have  arrived  down  there.  By  bringing  her  home  in 
the  carriage  some  precious  moments  had  slipped  by  ; 
but  she  had  been  laid  in  her  own  bed  in  seven  minutes, 
a  doctor  called  to  her  side,  and  every  possible  restora- 
tive brought  to  bear  upon  her. 

At  what  a  tearing  pace  he  had  driven  up  that 
road,  through  the  yellow  evening  sunlight,  the  shadows 
flapping  irksomely  into  his  eyes  as  each  wayside  object 
rushed  past  between  him  and  the  west !  Tired  work- 
men with  their  baskets  at  their  backs  had  turned  on 
their  homeward  journey  to  wonder  at  his  speed.  Half- 
way between  the  shore  and  Port-Bredy  town  he  had 
met  Charlson,  who  had  been  the  first  surgeon  to  hear 
of  the  accident.  He  was  accompanied  by  his  assistant 

134 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

in  a  gig.  Barnet  had  sent  on  the  latter  to  the  coast 
in  case  that  Downe's  poor  wife  should  by  that  time 
have  been  reclaimed  from  the  waves,  and  had  brought 
Charlson  back  with  him  to  the  house. 

Barnet's  presence  was  not  needed  here,  and  he  felt 
it  to  be  his  next  duty  to  set  off  at  once  and  find  Downe, 
that  no  other  than  himself  might  break  the  news  to 
him. 

He  was  quite  sure  that  no  chance  had  been  lost  for 
Mrs.  Downe  by  his  leaving  the  shore.  By  the  time 
that  Mrs.  Barnet  had  been  laid  in  the  carriage  a  much 
larger  group  had  assembled  to  lend  assistance  in  find- 
ing her  friend,  rendering  his  own  help  superfluous. 
But  the  duty  of  breaking  the  news  was  made  doubly 
painful  by  the  circumstance  that  the  catastrophe  which 
had  befallen  Mrs.  Downe  was  solely  the  result  of  her 
own  and  her  husband's  loving-kindness  towards  himself. 

He  found  Downe  in  his  office.  When  the  solicitor 
comprehended  the  intelligence  he  turned  pale,  stood 
up,  and  remained  for  a  moment  perfectly  still,  as  if 
bereft  of  his  faculties  ;  then  his  shoulders  heaved,  he 
pulled  out  his  handkerchief  and  began  to  cry  like  a 
child.  His  sobs  might  have  been  heard  in  the  next 
room.  He  seemed  to  have  no  idea  of  going  to  the 
shore,  or  of  doing  anything ;  but  when  Barnet  took 
him  gently  by  the  hand  and  proposed  to  start  at  once, 
he  quietly  acquiesced,  neither  uttering  any  further  word 
nor  making  any  effort  to  repress  his  tears. 

Barnet  accompanied  him  to  the  shore,  where,  find- 
ing that  no  trace  had  as  yet  been  seen  of  Mrs.  Downe, 
and  that  his  stay  would  be  of  no  avail,  he  left  Downe 
with  his  friends  and  the  young  doctor,  and  once  more 
hastened  back  to  his  own  house. 

At  the  door  he  met  Charlson.    'Well ! '  Barnet  said. 

'  I  have  just  come  down,'  said  the  doctor;  'we  have 
done  everything,  but  without  result.  I  sympathize 
with  you  in  your  bereavement.' 

Barnet  did  not  much  appreciate  Charlson's  sym- 
pathy, which  sounded  to  his  ears  as  something  of  a 

135 


WESSEX  TALES 

mockery  from  the  lips  of  a  man  who  knew  what 
Charlson  knew  about  his  domestic  relations.  Indeed 
there  seemed  an  odd  spark  in  Charlson's  full  black  eye 
as  he  said  the  words;  but  that  might  have  been 
imaginary. 

'And,  Mr.  Barnet,'  Charlson  resumed,  'that  little 
matter  between  us — I  hope  to  settle  it  finally  in  three 
weeks  at  least.' 

1  Nevermind  that  now,'  said  Barnet  abruptly.  He 
directed  the  surgeon  to  go  to  the  harbour  in  case  his 
services  might  even  now  be  necessary  there :  and 
himself  entered  the  house. 

The  servants  were  coming  from  his  wife's  chamber, 
looking  helplessly  at  each  other  and  at  him.  He 
passed  them  by  and  entered  the  room,  where  he  stood 
regarding  the  shape  on  the  bed  for  a  few  minutes,  after 
which  he  walked  into  his  own  dressing-room  adjoining, 
and  there  paced  up  and  down.  In  a  minute  or  two 
he  noticed  what  a  strange  and  total  silence  had  come 
over  the  upper  part  of  the  house  ;  his  own  movements, 
muffled  as  they  were  by  the  carpet,  seemed  noisy,  and 
his  thoughts  to  disturb  the  air  like  articulate  utterances. 
His  eye  glanced  through  the  window.  Far  down  the 
road  to  the  harbour  a  roof  detained  his  gaze :  out  of 
it  rose  a  red  chimney,  and  out  of  the  red  chimney  a 
curl  of  smoke,  as  from  a  fire  newly  kindled.  He  had 
often  seen  such  a  sight  before.  In  that  house  lived 
Lucy  Savile ;  and  the  smoke  was  from  the  fire  which 
was  regularly  lighted  at  this  time  to  make  her  tea. 

After  that  he  went  back  to  the  bedroom,  and  stood 
there  some  time  regarding  his  wife's  silent  form.  She 
was  a  woman  some  years  older  than  himself,  but  had 
not  by  any  means  overpassed  the  maturity  of  good 
looks  and  vigour.  Her  passionate  features,  well- 
defined,  firm,  and  statuesque  in  life,  were  doubly  so 
now :  her  mouth  and  brow,  beneath  her  purplish  black 
hair,  showed  only  too  clearly  that  the  turbulency  of 
character  which  had  made  a  bear-garden  of  his  house 
had  been  no  temporary  phase  of  her  existence.  While 

136 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

he  reflected,  he  suddenly  said  to  himself,  I  wonder  if 
all  has  been  done  ? 

The  thought  was  led  up  to  by  his  having  fancied 
that  his  wife's  features  lacked  in  its  completeness  the 
expression  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  associate 
with  the  faces  of  those  whose  spirits  have  fled  for  ever. 
The  effacement  of  life  was  not  so  marked  but  that, 
entering  uninformed,  he  might  have  supposed  her  sleep- 
ing. Her  complexion  was  that  seen  in  the  numerous 
faded  portraits  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  ;  it  was  pallid 
in  comparison  with  life,  but  there  was  visible  on  a  close 
inspection  the  remnant  of  what  had  once  been  a  flush  ; 
the  keeping  between  the  cheeks  and  the  hollows  of  the 
face  being  thus  preserved,  although  positive  colour  was 
gone.  Long  orange  rays  of  evening  sun  stole  in  through 
chinks  in  the  blind,  striking  on  the  large  mirror,  and 
being  thence  reflected  upon  the  crimson  hangings  and 
woodwork  of  the  heavy  bedstead,  so  that  the  general 
tone  of  light  was  remarkably  warm ;  and  it  was  prob- 
able that  something  might  be  due  to  this  circumstance. 
Still  the  fact  impressed  him  as  strange.  Charlson  had 
been  gone  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  :  could  it  be 
possible  that  he  had  left  too  soon,  and  that  his  attempts 
to  restore  her  had  operated  so  sluggishly  as  only  now 
to  have  made  themselves  felt?  Barnet  laid  his  hand 
upon  her  chest,  and  fancied  that  ever  and  anon  a  faint 
flutter  of  palpitation,  gentle  as  that  of  a  butterfly's 
wing,  disturbed  the  stillness  there — ceasing  for  a  time, 
then  struggling  to  go  on,  then  breaking  down  in 
weakness  and  ceasing  again. 

Barnet's  mother  had  been  an  active  practitioner  of 
the  healing  art  among  her  poorer  neighbours,  and  her 
inspirations  had  all  been  derived  from  an  octavo  volume 
of  Domestic  Medicine,  which  at  this  moment  was  lying, 
as  it  had  lain  for  many  years,  on  a  shelf  in  Barnet's 
dressing-room.  He  hastily  fetched  it,  and  there  read 
under  the  head  '  Drowning  : ' — 

'  Exertions  for  the  recovery  of  any  person  who  has  not 
been  immersed  for  a  longer  period  than  half-an-hour  should 

137 


WESSEX  TALES 

be  continued  for  at  least  four  hours,  as  there  have  been  many 
cases  in  which  returning  life  has  made  itself  visible  even  after 
a  longer  interval. 

'  Should,  however,  a  weak  action  of  any  of  the  organs 
show  itself  when  the  case  seems  almost  hopeless,  our  efforts 
must  be  redoubled ;  the  feeble  spark  in  this  case  requires  to 
be  solicited ;  it  will  certainly  disappear  under  a  relaxation 
of  labour.' 

Barnet  looked  at  his  watch  ;  it  was  now  barely  two 
hours  and  a  half  from  the  time  when  he  had  first  heard 
of  the  accident.  He  threw  aside  the  book  and  turned 
quickly  to  reach  a  stimulant  which  had  previously  been 
used.  Pulling  up  the  blind  for  more  light,  his  eye 
glanced  out  of  the  window.  There  he  saw  that  red 
chimney  still  smoking  cheerily,  and  that  roof,  and 
through  the  roof  that  somebody.  His  mechanical 
movements  stopped,  his  hand  remained  on  the  blind- 
cord,  and  he  seemed  to  become  breathless,  as  if  he  had 
suddenly  found  himself  treading  a  high  rope. 

While  he  stood  a  sparrow  lighted  on  the  window- 
sill,  saw  him,  and  flew  away.  Next  a  man  and  a  dog 
walked  over  one  of  the  green  hills  which  bulged  above 
the  roofs  of  the  town.  But  Barnet  took  no  notice. 

We  may  wonder  what  were  the  exact  images  that 
passed  through  his  mind  during  those  minutes  olf  gazing 
upon  Lucy  Savile's  house,  the  sparrow,  the  man  and 
the  dog,  and  Lucy  Savile's  house  again.  There  are 
honest  men  who  will  not  admit  to  their  thoughts,  even 
as  idle  hypotheses,  views  of  the  future  that  assume  as 
done  a  deed  which  they  would  recoil  from  doing ;  and 
there  are  other  honest  men  for  whom  morality  ends  at 
the  surface  of  their  own  heads,  who  will  deliberate 
what  the  first  will  not  so  much  as  suppose.  Barnet 
had  a  wife  whose  presence  distracted  his  home  ;  she 
now  lay  as  in  death  ;  by  merely  doing  nothing — by 
letting  the  intelligence  which  had  gone  forth  to  the 
world  lie  undisturbed — he  would  effect  such  a  deliver- 
ance for  himself  as  he  had  never  hoped  for,  and  open 
up  an  opportunity  of  which  till  now  he  had  never 

138 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

dreamed.  Whether  the  conjuncture  had  arisen  through 
any  unscrupulous,  ill-considered  impulse  of  Charlson  to 
help  out  of  a  strait  the  friend  who  was  so  kind  as  never 
to  press  him  for  what  was  due  could  not  be  told  ; 
there  was  nothing  to  prove  it ;  and  it  was  a  question 
which  could  never  be  asked.  The  triangular  situation 
— himself — his  wife — Lucy  Savile — was  the  one  clear 
thing. 

From  Barnet's  actions  we  may  infer  that  he  supposed 
such  and  such  a  result,  for  a  moment,  but  did  not 
deliberate.  He  withdrew  his  hazel  eyes  from  the  scene 
without,  calmly  turned,  rang  the  bell  for  assistance, 
and  vigorously  exerted  himself  to  learn  if  life  still 
lingered  in  that  motionless  frame.  In  a  short  time 
another  surgeon  was  in  attendance  ;  and  then  Barnet's 
surmise  proved  to  be  true.  The  slow  life  timidly 
heaved  again  ;  but  much  care  and  patience  were  needed 
to  catch  and  retain  it,  and  a  considerable  period  elapsed 
before  it  could  be  said  with  certainty  that  Mrs.  Barnet 
lived.  When  this  was  the  case,  and  there  was  no 
further  room  for  doubt,  Barnet  left  the  chamber.  The 
blue  evening  smoke  from  Lucy's  chimney  had  died 
down  to  an  imperceptible  stream,  and  as  he  walked 
about  downstairs  he  murmured  to  himself,  '  My  wife 
was  dead,  and  she  is  alive  again.' 

It  was  not  so  with  Downe.  After  three  hours' 
immersion  his  wife's  body  had  been  recovered,  life,  of 
course,  being  quite  extinct.  Barnet  on  descending, 
went  straight  to  his  friend's  house,  and  there  learned 
the  result.  Downe  was  helpless  in  his  wild  grief, 
occasionally  even  hysterical.  Barnet  said  little,  but 
finding  that  some  guiding  hand  was  necessary  in  the 
sorrow-stricken  household,  took  upon  him  to  supervise 
and  manage  till  Downe  should  be  in  a  state  of  mind  to 
do  so  for  himself. 


VI 

ONE  September  evening,  four  months  later,  when  Mrs. 
Barnet  was  in  perfect  health,  and  Mrs.  Downe  but  a 
weakening  memory,  an  errand-boy  paused  to  rest  him- 
self in  front  of  Mr.  Barnet's  old  house,  depositing  his 
basket  on  one  of  the  window-sills.  The  street  was  not 
yet  lighted,  but  there  were  lights  in  the  house,  and  at 
intervals  a  flitting  shadow  fell  upon  the  blind  at  his 
elbow.  Words  also  were  audible  from  the  same  apart- 
ment, and  they  seemed  to  be  those  of  persons  in  violent 
altercation.  But  the  boy  could  not  gather  their  purport, 
and  he  went  on  his  way. 

Ten  minutes  afterwards  the  door  of  Barnet's  house 
opened,  and  a  tall  closely-veiled  lady  in  a  travelling- 
dress  came  out  and  descended  the  freestone  steps. 
The  servant  stood  in  the  doorway  watching  her  as  she 
went  with  a  measured  tread  down  the  street.  When 
she  had  been  out  of  sight  for  some  minutes  Barnet 
appeared  at  the  door  from  within. 

4  Did  your  mistress  leave  word  where  she  was 
going  ? '  he  asked. 

4  No,  sir.' 

*  Is  the  carriage  ordered  to  meet  her  anywhere  ?  * 

4  No,  sir.' 

'  Did  she  take  a  latch-key  ? ' 

•No,  sir.' 

Barnet  went  in  again,  sat  down  in  his  chair,  and 
leaned  back.  Then  in  solitude  and  silence  he  brooded 
over  the  bitter  emotions  that  filled  his  heart.  It  was 
for  this  that  he  had  gratuitously  restored  her  to  life, 

140 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

and  made  his  union  with  another  impossible !  The 
evening  drew  on,  and  nobody  came  to  disturb  him. 
At  bedtime  he  told  the  servants  to  retire,  that  he 
would  sit  up  for  Mrs.  Barnet  himself;  and  when  they 
were  gone  he  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand  and 
mused  for  hours. 

The  clock  struck  one,  two ;  still  his  wife  came  not, 
and,  with  impatience  added  to  depression,  he  went 
from  room  to  room  till  another  weary  hour  had  passed. 
This  was  not  altogether  a  new  experience  for  Barnet ; 
but  she  had  never  before  so  prolonged  her  absence. 
At  last  he  sat  down  again  and  fell  asleep. 

He  awoke  at  six  o'clock  to  find  that  she  had  not 
returned.  In  searching  about  the  rooms  he  dis- 
covered that  she  had  taken  a  case  of  jewels  which  had 
been  hers  before  her  marriage.  At  eight  a  note  was 
brought  him  ;  it  was  from  his  wife,  in  which  she  stated 
that  she  had  gone  by  the  coach  to  the  house  of  a 
distant  relative  near  London,  and  expressed  a  wish 
that  certain  boxes,  articles  of  clothing,  and  so  on, 
might  be  sent  to  her  forthwith.  The  note  was 
brought  to  him  by  a  waiter  at  the  Black-Bull  Hotel, 
and  had  been  written  by  Mrs.  Barnet  immediately 
before  she  took  her  place  in  the  stage. 

By  the  evening  this  order  was  carried  out,  and 
Barnet,  with  a  sense  of  relief,  walked  out  into  the 
town.  A  fair  had  been  held  during  the  day,  and  the 
large  clear  moon  which  rose  over  the  most  prominent 
hill  flung  its  light  upon  the  booths  and  standings  that 
still  remained  in  the  street,  mixing  its  rays  curiously 
with  those  from  the  flaring  naphtha  lamps.  The  town 
was  full  of  country-people  who  had  come  in  to  enjoy 
themselves,  and  on  this  account  Barnet  strolled 
through  the  streets  unobserved.  With  a  certain 
recklessness  he  made  for  the  harbour-road,  and 
presently  found  himself  by  the  shore,  where  he  walked 
on  till  he  came  to  the  spot  near  which  his  friend  the 
kindly  Mrs.  Downe  had  lost  her  life,  and  his  own 
wife's  life  had  been  preserved.  A  tremulous  pathway 

141 


WESSEX  TALES 

of  bright  moonshine  now  stretched  over  the  water 
which  had  engulfed  them,  and  not  a  living  soul  was 
near. 

Here  he  ruminated  on  their  characters,  and  next 
on  the  young  girl  in  whom  he  now  took  a  more 
sensitive  interest  than  at  the  time  when  he  had  been 
free  to  marry  her.  Nothing,  so  far  as  he  was  aware, 
had  ever  appeared  in  his  own  conduct  to  show  that 
such  an  interest  existed.  He  had  made  it  a  point 
of  the  utmost  strictness  to  hinder  that  feeling  from 
influencing  in  the  faintest  degree  his  attitude  towards 
his  wife ;  and  this  was  made  all  the  more  easy  for  him 
by  the  small  demand  Mrs.  Barnet  made  upon  his 
attentions,  for  which  she  ever  evinced  the  greatest 
contempt ;  thus  unwittingly  giving  him  the  satisfaction 
of  knowing  that  their  severance  owed  nothing  to 
jealousy,  or,  indeed,  to  any  personal  behaviour  of  his 
at  all.  Her  concern  was  not  with  him  or  his  feelings, 
as  she  frequently  told  him  ;  but  that  she  had,  in  a 
moment  of  weakness,  thrown  herself  away  upon  a 
common  burgher  when  she  might  have  aimed  at,  and 
possibly  brought  down,  a  peer  of  the  realm.  Her 
frequent  depreciation  of  Barnet  in  these  terms  had  at 
times  been  so  intense  that  he  was  sorely  tempted  to 
retaliate  on  her  egotism  by  owning  that  he  loved  at 
the  same  low  level  on  which  he  lived ;  but  prudence 
had  prevailed,  for  which  he  was  now  thankful. 

Something  seemed  to  sound  upon  the  shingle 
behind  him  over  and  above  the  raking  of  the  wave. 
He  looked  round,  and  a  slight  girlish  shape  appeared 
quite  close  to  him.  He  could  not  see  her  face  because 
it  was  in  the  direction  of  the  moon. 

'  Mr.  Barnet  ? '  the  rambler  said,  in  timid  surprise. 
The  voice  was  the  voice  of  Lucy  Savile. 

'  Yes,'  said  Barnet.  '  How  can  I  repay  you  for 
this  pleasure?' 

4 1  only  came  because  the  night  was  so  clear.  I 
am  now  on  my  way  home.' 

'  I  am  glad  we  have  met.  I  want  to  know  if  you 

142 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

will  let  me  do  something  for  you,  to  give  me  an 
occupation,  as  an  idle  man  ?  I  am  sure  I  ought  to 
help  you,  for  I  know  you  are  almost  without  friends.' 

She  hesitated.  '  Why  should  you  tell  me  that  ? ' 
she  said. 

'  In  the  hope  that  you  will  be  frank  with  me.' 

1 1  am  not  altogether  without  friends  here.  But  I 
am  going  to  make  a  little  change  in  my  life — to  go 
out  as  a  teacher  of  freehand  drawing  and  practical  per- 
spective, of  course  I  mean  on  a  comparatively  humble 
scale,  because  I  have  not  been  specially  educated  for 
that  profession.  But  I  am  sure  I  shall  like  it  much.' 

'  You  have  an  opening  ?  ' 

'  I  have  not  exactly  got  it,  but  I  have  advertised 
for  one.' 

'  Lucy,  you  must  let  me  help  you ! ' 

'  Not  at  all.' 

'You  need  not  think  it  would  compromise  you,  or 
that  I  am  indifferent  to  delicacy.  I  bear  in  mind  how 
we  stand.  It  is  very  unlikely  that  you  will  succeed  as 
teacher  of  the  class  you  mention,  so  let  me  do  some- 
thing of  a  different  kind  for  you.  Say  what  you  would 
like,  and  it  shall  be  done.' 

'  No  ;  if  I  can't  be  a  drawing-mistress  or  governess, 
or  something  of  that  sort,  I  shall  go  to  India  and  join 
my  brother.' 

'  I  wish  I  could  go  abroad,  anywhere,  everywhere 
with  you,  Lucy,  and  leave  this  place  and  its  associations 
for  ever ! ' 

She  played  with  the  end  of  her  bonnet-string,  and 
hastily  turned  aside.  '  Don't  ever  touch  upon  that 
kind  of  topic  again,'  she  said,  with  a  quick  seventy 
not  free  from  anger.  *  It  simply  makes  it  impossible 
for  me  to  see  you,  much  less  receive  any  guidance 
from  you.  No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Barnet ;  you  can  do 
nothing  for  me  at  present ;  and  as  I  suppose  my  un- 
certainty will  end  in  my  leaving  for  India,  I  fear  you 
never  will.  If  ever  I  think  you  can  do  anything,  I 
will  take  the  trouble  to  ask  you.  Till  then,  good-bye.' 

143 


WESSEX  TALES 

The  tone  of  her  latter  words  was  equivocal,  and 
while  he  remained  in  doubt  whether  a  gentle  irony 
was  or  was  not  inwrought  with  their  sound,  she  swept 
lightly  round  and  left  him  alone.  He  saw  her  form 
get  smaller  and  smaller  along  the  damp  belt  of  sea- 
sand  between  ebb  and  flood ;  and  when  she  had 
vanished  round  the  cliff  into  the  harbour- road  he 
himself  followed  in  the  same  direction. 

That  her  hopes  from  an  advertisement  should  be 
the  single  thread  which  held  Lucy  Savile  in  England 
was  too  much  for  Barnet.  On  reaching  the  town  he 
went  straight  to  the  residence  of  Downe,  now  a 
widower  with  four  children.  The  young  motherless 
brood  had  been  sent  to  bed  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
earlier,  and  when  Barnet  entered  he  found  Downe 
sitting  alone.  It  was  the  same  room  as  that  from 
which  the  family  had  been  looking  out  for  Downe  at 
the  beginning  of  the  year,  when  Downe  had  slipped 
into  the  gutter  and  his  wife  had  been  so  enviably 
tender  towards  him.  The  old  neatness  had  gone 
from  the  house ;  articles  lay  in  places  which  could 
show  no  reason  for  their  presence,  as  if  momentarily 
deposited  there  some  months  ago,  and  forgotten  ever 
since ;  there  were  no  flowers  ;  things  were  jumbled 
together  on  the  furniture  which  should  have  been 
in  cupboards ;  and  the  place  in  general  had  that 
stagnant,  unrenovated  air  which  usually  pervades  the 
maimed  home  of  the  widower. 

Downe  soon  renewed  his  customary  full-worded 
lament  over  his  wife,  and  even  when  he  had  worked 
himself  up  to  tears,  went  on  volubly,  as  if  a  listener 
were  a  luxury  to  be  enjoyed  whenever  he  could  be 
caught. 

'  She  was  a  treasure  beyond  compare,  Mr.  Barnet ! 
I  shall  never  see  such  another.  Nobody  now  to  nurse 
me — nobody  to  console  me  in  those  daily  troubles,  you 
know,  Barnet,  which  makes  consolation  so  necessary 
to  a  nature  like  mine.  It  would  be  unbecoming  to 
repine,  for  her  spirit's  home  was  elsewhere  —  the 

144 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

tender  light  in  her  eyes  always  showed  it  ;  but  it  is 
a  long  dreary  time  that  I  have  before  me,  and  nobody 
else  can  ever  fill  the  void  left  in  my  heart  by  her  loss 
— nobody — nobody ! '  And  Downe  wiped  his  eyes 
again. 

'She  was  a  good  woman  in  the  highest  sense,' 
gravely  answered  Barnet,  who,  though  Downe's  words 
drew  genuine  compassion  from  his  heart,  could  not 
help  feeling  that  a  tender  reticence  would  have  been  a 
finer  tribute  to  Mrs.  Downe's  really  sterling  virtues 
than  such  a  second-class  lament  as  this. 

'  I  have  something  to  show  you,'  Downe  resumed, 
producing  from  a  drawer  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which 
was  an  elaborate  design  for  a  canopied  tomb.  '  This 
has  been  sent  me  by  the  architect,  but  it  is  not  exactly 
what  I  want.' 

4  You  have  got  Jones  to  do  it,  I  see,  the  man  who 
is  carrying  out  my  house,'  said  Barnet,  as  he  glanced 
at  the  signature  to  the  drawing. 

'  Yes,  but  it  is  not  quite  what  I  want.  I  want 
something  more  striking — more  like  a  tomb  I  have 
seen  in  St.  Paul's  Cathedral.  Nothing  less  will  do 
justice  to  my  feelings,  and  how  far  short  of  them  that 
will  fall ! ' 

Barnet  privately  thought  the  design  a  sufficiently 
imposing  one  as  it  stood,  even  extravagantly  ornate ; 
but,  feeling  that  he  had  no  right  to  criticize,  he  said 
gently,  '  Downe,  should  you  not  live  more  in  your 
children's  lives  at  the  present  time,  and  soften  the 
sharpness  of  regret  for  your  own  past  by  thinking  of 
their  future  ? ' 

'  Yes,  yes ;  but  what  can  I  do  more  ? '  asked 
Downe,  wrinkling  his  forehead  hopelessly. 

It  was  with  anxious  slowness  that  Barnet  produced 
his  reply — the  secret  object  of  his  visit  to-night  '  Did 
you  not  say  one  day  that  you  ought  by  rights  to  get  a 
governess  for  the  children  ?  ' 

Downe  admitted  that  he  had  said  so,  but  that  he 
could  not  see  his  way  to  it.  '  The  kind  of  woman  I 

US 


WESSEX  TALES 

should  like  to  have,'  he  said,  '  would  be  rather  beyond 
my  means.  No ;  I  think  I  shall  send  them  to  schoo! 
in  the  town  when  they  are  old  enough  to  go  out 
alone.' 

1  Now,  I  know  of  something  better  than  that.  The 
late  Lieutenant  Savile's  daughter,  Lucy,  wants  to  do 
something  for  herself  in  the  way  of  teaching.  She 
would  be  inexpensive,  and  would  answer  your  purpose 
as  well  as  anybody  for  six  or  twelve  months.  She 
would  probably  come  daily  if  you  were  to  ask  her,  and 
so  your  housekeeping  arrangements  would  not  be 
much  affected.' 

'  I  thought  she  had  gone  away,'  said  the  solicitor, 
musing.  '  Where  does  she  live  ? ' 

Barnet  told  him,  and  added  that,  if  Downe  should 
think  of  her  as  suitable,  he  would  do  well  to  call  as 
soon  as  possible,  or  she  might  be  on  the  wing.  '  If 
you  do  see  her,'  he  said,  '  it  would  be  advisable  not  to 
mention  my  name.  She  is  rather  stiff  in  her  ideas  of 
me,  and  it  might  prejudice  her  against  a  course  if  she 
knew  that  I  recommended  it.' 

Downe  promised  to  give  the  subject  his  considera- 
tion, and  nothing  more  was  said  about  it  just  then. 
But  when  Barnet  rose  to  go,  which  was  not  till  nearly 
bedtime,  he  reminded  Downe  of  the  suggestion  and 
went  up  the  street  to  his  own  solitary  home  with  a 
sense  of  satisfaction  at  his  promising  diplomacy  in  a 
charitable  cause. 


VII 


THE  walls  of  his  new  house  were  carried  up  nearly  to 
their  full  height.  By  a  curious  though  not  infrequent 
reaction,  Barnet's  feelings  about  that  unnecessary 
structure  had  undergone  a  change  ;  he  took  consider- 
able interest  in  its  progress  as  a  long  -  neglected 
thing,  his  wife  before  her  departure  having  grown 
quite  weary  of  it  as  a  hobby.  Moreover,  it  was  an 
excellent  distraction  for  a  man  in  the  unhappy  position 
of  having  to  live  in  a  provincial  town  with  nothing  to 
do.  He  was  probably  the  first  of  his  line  who  had 
ever  passed  a  day  without  toil,  and  perhaps  something 
like  an  inherited  instinct  disqualifies  such  men  for  a 
life  of  pleasant  inaction,  such  as  lies  in  the  power  of 
those  whose  leisure  is  not  a  personal  accident,  but  a 
vast  historical  accretion  which  has  become  part  of 
their  natures. 

Thus  Barnet  got  into  a  way  of  spending  many  of 
his  leisure  hours  on  the  site  of  the  new  building,  and 
he  might  have  been  seen  on  most  days  at  this  time 
trying  the  temper  of  the  mortar  by  punching  the  joints 
with  his  stick,  looking  at  the  grain  of  a  floor-board, 
and  meditating  where  it  grew,  or  picturing  under  what 
circumstances  the  last  fire  would  be  kindled  in  the 
at  present  sootless  chimneys.  One  day  when  thus 
occupied  he  saw  three  children  pass  by  in  the  com- 
pany of  a  fair  young  woman,  whose  sudden  appearance 
caused  him  to  flush  perceptibly. 

'Ah,  she  is  there,'  he  thought.  'That's  a  blessed 
thing.' 

147 


WESSEX  TALES 

Casting  an  interested  glance  over  the  rising 
building  and  the  busy  workmen,  Lucy  Savile  and 
the  little  Downes  passed  by ;  and  after  that  time  it 
became  a  regular  though  almost  unconscious  custom 
of  Barnet  to  stand  in  the  half-completed  house  and 
look  from  the  ungarnished  windows  at  the  governess 
as  she  tripped  towards  the  sea-shore  with  her  young 
charges,  which  she  was  in  the  habit  of  doing  on  most 
fine  afternoons.  It  was  on  one  of  these  occasions, 
when  he  had  been  loitering  on  the  first-floor  landing, 
near  the  hole  left  for  the  staircase,  not  yet  erected, 
that  there  appeared  above  the  edge  of  the  floor  a  little 
hat,  followed  by  a  little  head. 

Barnet  withdrew  through  a  doorway,  and  the  child 
came  to  the  top  of  the  ladder,  stepping  on  to  the  floor 
and  crying  to  her  sisters  and  Miss  Savile  to  follow. 
Another  head  rose  above  the  floor,  and  another,  and 
then  Lucy  herself  came  into  view.  The  troop  ran 
hither  and  thither  through  the  empty,  shaving-strewn 
rooms,  and  Barnet  came  forward. 

Lucy  uttered  a  small  exclamation  :  she  was  very 
sorry  that  she  had  intruded  ;  she  had  not  the  least  idea 
that  Mr.  Barnet  was  there  :  the  children  had  come  up, 
and  she  had  followed. 

Barnet  replied  that  he  was  only  too  glad  to  see 
them  there.  '  And  now,  let  me  show  you  the  rooms,' 
he  said. 

She  passively  assented,  and  he  took  her  round. 
There  was  not  much  to  show  in  such  a  bare  skeleton 
of  a  house,  but  he  made  the  most  of  it,  and  explained 
the  different  ornamental  fittings  that  were  soon  to  be 
fixed  here  and  there.  Lucy  made  but  few  remarks 
in  reply,  though  she  seemed  pleased  with  her  visit, 
and  stole  away  down  the  ladder,  followed  by  her 
companions. 

After  this  the  new  residence  became  yet  more  of 
a  hobby  for  Barnet.  Downe's  children  did  not  forget 
their  first  visit,  and  when  the  windows  were  glazed, 
and  the  handsome  staircase  spread  its  broad  low  steps 

148 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

into  the  hall,  they  came  again,  prancing  in  unwearied 
succession  through  every  room  from  ground-floor  to 
attics,  while  Lucy  stood  waiting  for  them  at  the  door. 
Barnet,  who  rarely  missed  a  day  in  coming  to  inspect 
progress,  stepped  out  from  the  drawing-room. 

'  I  could  not  keep  them  out,'  she  said,  with  an 
apologetic  blush.  '  I  tried  to  do  so  very  much :  but 
they  are  rather  wilful,  and  we  are  directed  to  walk  this 
way  for  the  sea  air.' 

'  Do  let  them  make  the  house  their  regular  play- 
ground, and  you  yours,'  said  Barnet.  'There  is  no 
better  place  for  children  to  romp  and  take  their  exercise 
in  than  an  empty  house,  particularly  in  muddy  or  damp 
weather  such  as  we  shall  get  a  good  deal  of  now ;  and 
this  place  will  not  be  furnished  tor  a  long  long  time — 
perhaps  never.  I  am  not  at  all  decided  about  it.' 

4  O,  but  it  must ! '  replied  Lucy,  looking  round 
at  the  hall.  '  The  rooms  are  excellent,  twice  as 
high  as  ours ;  and  the  views  from  the  windows  are 
so  lovely.' 

'  I  daresay,  I  daresay,'  he  said  absently. 

'  Will  all  the  furniture  be  new  ? '  she  asked. 

'All  the  furniture  be  new — that's  a  thing  I  have 
not  thought  of.  In  fact  I  only  come  here  and  look  on. 
My  father's  house  would  have  been  large  enough  for 
me,  but  another  person  had  a  voice  in  the  matter, 
and  it  was  settled  that  we  should  build.  However, 
the  place  grows  upon  me ;  its  recent  associations  are 
cheerful,  and  I  am  getting  to  like  it  fast.' 

A  certain  uneasiness  in  Lucy's  manner  showed  that 
the  conversation  was  taking  too  personal  a  turn  for  her. 
'  Still,  as  modern  tastes  develop,  people  require  more 
room  to  gratify  them  in,'  she  said,  withdrawing  to  call 
the  children  ;  and  serenely  bidding  him  good  afternoon 
she  went  on  her  way. 

Barnet's  life  at  this  period  was  singularly  lonely,  and 
yet  he  was  happier  than  he  could  have  expected.  His 
wife's  estrangement  and  absence,  which  promised  to  be 
permanent,  left  him  free  as  a  boy  in  his  movements, 

149 


WESSEX  TALES 

and  the  solitary  walks  that  he  took  gave  him  ample 
opportunity  for  chastened  reflection  on  what  might 
have  been  his  lot  if  he  had  only  shown  wisdom  enough 
to  claim  Lucy  Savile  when  there  was  no  bar  between 
their  lives,  and  she  was  to  be  had  for  the  asking.  He 
would  occasionally  call  at  the  house  of  his  friend 
Downe ;  but  there  was  scarcely  enough  in  common 
between  their  two  natures  to  make  them  more  than 
friends  of  that  excellent  sort  whose  personal  knowledge 
of  each  other's  history  and  character  is  always  in 
excess  of  intimacy,  whereby  they  are  not  so  likely  to 
be  severed  by  a  clash  of  sentiment  as  in  cases  where 
intimacy  springs  up  in  excess  of  knowledge.  Lucy 
was  never  visible  at  these  times,  being  either  engaged 
in  the  school-room,  or  in  taking  an  airing  out  of 
doors  ;  but,  knowing  that  she  was  now  comfortable, 
and  had  given  up  the,  to  him,  depressing  idea  of 
going  off  to  the  other  side  of  the  globe,  he  was  quite 
content. 

The  new  house  had  so  far  progressed  that  the 
gardeners  were  beginning  to  grass  down  the  front. 
During  an  afternoon  which  he  was  passing  in  marking 
the  curve  for  the  carriage-drive,  he  beheld  her  coming 
in  boldly  towards  him  from  the  road.  Hitherto  Barnet 
had  only  caught  her  on  the  premises  by  stealth  ;  and 
this  advance  seemed  to  show  that  at  last  her  reserve 
had  broken  down. 

A  smile  gained  strength  upon  her  face  as  she 
approached,  and  it  was  quite  radiant  when  she  came 
up,  and  said,  without  a  trace  of  embarrassment,  '  I  find 
I  owe  you  a  hundred  thanks — and  it  comes  to  me  quite 
as  a  surprise!  It  was  through  your  kindness  that  I 
was  engaged  by  Mr.  Downe.  Believe  me,  Mr.  Barnet, 
I  did  not  know  it  until  yesterday,  or  I  should  have 
thanked  you  long  and  long  ago ! ' 

'  I  had  offended  you — just  a  trifle — at  the  time,  I 
think  ? '  said  Barnet,  smiling,  '  and  it  was  best  that  you 
should  not  know.' 

'Yes,  yes,'  she  returned  hastily.  'Don't  allude  to 

150 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

that ;  it  is  past  and  over,  and  we  will  let  it  be.  The 
house  is  finished  almost,  is  it  not  ?  How  beautiful  it 
will  look  when  the  evergreens  are  grown !  Do  you 
call  the  style  Palladian,  Mr.  Barnet?' 

4 1 — really  don't  quite  know  what  it  is.  Yes,  it 
must  be  Palladian,  certainly.  But  I'll  ask  Jones,  the 
architect ;  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  had  not  thought 
much  about  the  style :  I  had  nothing  to  do  with 
choosing  it,  I  am  sorry  to  say.' 

She  would  not  let  him  harp  on  this  gloomy  refrain, 
and  talked  on  bright  matters  till  she  said,  producing  a 
small  roll  of  paper  which  he  had  noticed  in  her  hand 
all  the  while,  '  Mr.  Downe  wished  me  to  bring  you 
this  revised  drawing  of  the  late  Mrs.  Downe's  tomb, 
which  the  architect  has  just  sent  him.  He  would  like 
you  to  look  it  over.' 

The  children  came  up  with  their  hoops,  and  she 
went  off  with  them  down  the  harbour-road  as  usual. 
Barnet  had  been  glad  to  get  those  words  of  thanks  ; 
he  had  been  thinking  for  many  months  that  he  would 
like  her  to  know  of  his  share  in  finding  her  a  home 
such  as  it  was ;  and  what  he  could  not  do  for  himself, 
Downe  had  now  kindly  done  for  him.  He  returned 
to  his  desolate  house  with  a  lighter  tread  ;  though  in 
reason  he  hardly  knew  why  his  tread  should  be  light. 

On  examining  the  drawing,  Barnet  found  that,  in- 
stead of  the  vast  altar-tomb  and  canopy  Downe  had 
determined  on  at  their  last  meeting,  it  was  to  be  a 
more  modest  memorial  even  than  had  been  suggested 
by  the  architect ;  a  coped  tomb  of  good  solid  construc- 
tion, with  no  useless  elaboration  at  all.  Barnet  was 
truly  glad  to  see  that  Downe  had  come  to  reason  of 
his  own  accord ;  and  he  returned  the  drawing  with  a 
note  of  approval. 

He  followed  up  the  house- work  as  before,  and  as 
he  walked  up  and  down  the  rooms,  occasionally  gazing 
from  the  windows  over  the  bulging  green  hills  and  the 
quiet  harbour  that  lay  between  them,  he  murmured 
words  and  fragments  of  words,  which,  if  listened  to, 


WESSEX  TALES 

would  have  revealed  all  the  secrets  of  his  existence. 
Whatever  his  reason  in  going  there,  Lucy  did  not  call 
again  :  the  walk  to  the  shore  seemed  to  be  abandoned  : 
he  must  have  thought  it  as  well  for  both  that  it  should 
be  so,  for  he  did  not  go  anywhere  out  of  his  accustomed 
ways  to  endeavour  to  discover  her. 


VIII 

THE  winter  and  the  spring  had  passed,  and  the  house 
was  complete.  It  was  a  fine  morning  in  the  early 
part  of  June,  and  Barnet,  though  not  in  the  habit  of 
rising  early,  had  taken  a  long  walk  before  breakfast ; 
returning  by  way  of  the  new  building.  A  sufficiently 
exciting  cause  of  his  restlessness  to-day  might  have 
been  the  intelligence  which  had  reached  him  the  night 
before,  that  Lucy  Savile  was  going  to  India  after  all, 
and  notwithstanding  the  representations  of  her  friends 
that  such  a  journey  was  unadvisable  in  many  ways 
for  an  unpractised  girl,  unless  some  more  definite 
advantage  lay  at  the  end  of  it  than  she  could  show 
to  be  the  case.  Barnet's  walk  up  the  slope  to  the 
building  betrayed  that  he  was  in  a  dissatisfied  mood. 
He  hardly  saw  that  the  dewy  time  of  day  lent  an 
unusual  freshness  to  the  bushes  and  trees  which  had 
so  recently  put  on  their  summer  habit  of  heavy  leafage, 
and  made  his  newly-laid  lawn  look  as  well  established 
as  an  old  manorial  meadow.  The  house  had  been 
so  adroitly  placed  between  six  tall  elms  which  were 
growing  on  the  site  beforehand,  that  they  seemed  like 
real  ancestral  trees ;  and  the  rooks,  young  and  old, 
cawed  melodiously  to  their  visitor. 

The  door  was  not  locked,  and  he  entered.  No 
workmen  appeared  to  be  present,  and  he  walked  from 
sunny  window  to  sunny  window  of  the  empty  rooms, 
with  a  sense  of  seclusion  which  might  have  been  very 
pleasant  but  for  the  antecedent  knowledge  that  his 
almost  paternal  care  of  Lucy  Savile  was  to  be  thrown 

153 


WESSEX  TALES 

away  by  her  wilfulness.  Footsteps  echoed  through 
an  adjoining  room ;  and  bending  his  eyes  in  that 
direction,  he  perceived  Mr.  Jones,  the  architect.  He 
had  come  to  look  over  the  building  before  giving  the 
contractor  his  final  certificate.  They  walked  over  the 
house  together.  Everything  was  finished  except  the 
papering :  there  were  the  latest  improvements  of  the 
period  in  bell-hanging,  ventilating,  smoke-jacks,  fire- 
grates, and  French  windows.  The  business  was  soon 
ended,  and  Jones,  having  directed  Barnet's  attention 
to  a  book  of  wall-paper  patterns  which  lay  on  a  bench 
for  his  choice,  was  leaving  to  keep  another  engage- 
ment, when  Barnet  said,  '  Is  the  tomb  finished  yet  for 
Mrs.  Downe?' 

'  Well — yes :  it  is  at  last,'  said  the  architect, 
coming  back  and  speaking  as  if  he  were  in  a  mood  to 
make  a  confidence.  '  I  have  had  no  end  of  trouble  in 
the  matter,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  am  heartily  glad  it 
is  over.' 

Barnet  expressed  his  surprise.  '  I  thought  poor 
Downe  had  given  up  those  extravagant  notions  of 
his  ?  Then  he  has  gone  back  to  the  altar  and  canopy 
after  all  ?  Well,  he  is  to  be  excused,  poor  fellow  ! ' 

*O  no — he  has  not  at  all  gone  back  to  them — 
quite  the  reverse,'  Jones  hastened  to  say.  '  He  has 
so  reduced  design  after  design,  that  the  whole  thing 
has  been  nothing  but  waste  labour  for  me ;  till  in  the 
end  it  has  become  a  common  headstone,  which  a 
mason  put  up  in  half  a  day." 

'  A  common  headstone  ?  '  said  Barnet. 

'  Yes.  I  held  out  for  some  time  for  the  addition 
of  a  footstone  at  least.  But  he  said,  "  O  no — he 
couldn't  afford  it.'" 

'  Ah,  well — his  family  is  growing  up,  poor  fellow, 
and  his  expenses  are  getting  serious.' 

'Yes,  exactly,'  said  Jones,  as  if  the  subject  were 
none  of  his.  And  again  directing  Barnet's  attention 
to  the  wall-papers,  the  bustling  architect  left  him  to 
keep  some  other  engagement. 

154 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

'A  common  headstone/  murmured  Barnet,  left 
again  to  himself.  He  mused  a  minute  or  two,  and 
next  began  looking  over  and  selecting  from  the 
patterns  ;  but  had  not  long  been  engaged  in  the  work 
when  he  heard  another  footstep  on  the  gravel  without, 
and  somebody  enter  the  open  porch. 

Barnet  went  to  the  door — it  was  his  manservant 
in  search  of  him. 

'  I  have  been  trying  for  some  time  to  find  you, 
sir,'  he  said.  '  This  letter  has  come  by  the  post,  and 
it  is  marked  immediate.  And  there's  this  one  from 
Mr.  Downe,  who  called  just  now  wanting  to  see  you.' 
He  searched  his  pocket  for  the  second. 

Barnet  took  the  first  letter — it  had  a  black  border, 
and  bore  the  London  postmark.  It  was  not  in  his 
wife's  handwriting,  or  in  that  of  any  person  he  knew  ; 
but  conjecture  soon  ceased  as  he  read  the  page, 
wherein  he  was  briefly  informed  that  Mrs.  Barnet  had 
died  suddenly  on  the  previous  day,  at  the  furnished 
villa  she  had  occupied  near  London. 

Barnet  looked  vaguely  round  the  empty  hall,  at 
the  blank  walls,  out  of  the  doorway.  Drawing  a  long 
palpitating  breath,  and  with  eyes  downcast,  he  turned 
and  climbed  the  stairs  slowly,  like  a  man  who  doubted 
their  stability.  The  fact  of  his  wife  having,  as  it 
were,  died  once  already,  and  lived  on  again,  had 
entirely  dislodged  the  possibility  of  her  actual  death 
from  his  conjecture.  He  went  to  the  landing,  leant 
over  the  balusters,  and  after  a  reverie,  of  whose 
duration  he  had  but  the  faintest  notion,  turned  to 
the  window  and  stretched  his  gaze  to  the  cottage 
further  down  the  road,  which  was  visible  from 
his  landing,  and  from  which  Lucy  still  walked  to 
the  solicitor's  house  by  a  cross  path.  The  faint 
words  that  came  from  his  moving  lips  were  simply, 
'At  last!' 

Then,  almost  involuntarily,  Barnet  fell  down  on 
his  knees  and  murmured  some  incoherent  words  of 
thanksgiving.  Surely  his  virtue  in  restoring  his  wife 

155 


WESSEX  TALES 

to  life  had  been  rewarded!  But,  as  if  the  impulse 
struck  uneasily  on  his  conscience,  he  quickly  rose, 
brushed  the  dust  from  his  trousers,  and  set  himself  to 
think  of  his  next  movements.  He  could  not  start  for 
London  for  some  hours  ;  and  as  he  had  no  prepara- 
tions to  make  that  could  not  be  made  in  half-an-hour, 
he  mechanically  descended  and  resumed  his  occupa- 
tion of  turning  over  the  wall-papers.  They  had  all 
got  brighter  for  him,  those  papers.  It  was  all  changed 
— who  would  sit  in  the  rooms  that  they  were  to  line? 
He  went  on  to  muse  upon  Lucy's  conduct  in  so 
frequently  coming  to  the  house  with  the  children  ;  her 
occasional  blush  in  speaking  to  him ;  her  evident 
interest  in  him.  What  woman  can  in  the  long  run 
avoid  being  interested  in  a  man  whom  she  knows  to 
be  devoted  to  her?  If  human  solicitation  could  ever 
effect  anything,  there  should  be  no  going  to  India  for 
Lucy  now.  All  the  papers  previously  chosen  seemed 
wrong  in  their  shades,  and  he  began  from  the  begin- 
ning to  choose  again. 

While  entering  on  the  task  he  heard  a  forced 
'  Ahem  ! '  from  without  the  porch,  evidently  uttered  to 
attract  his  attention,  and  footsteps  again  advancing  to 
the  door.  His  man,  whom  he  had  quite  forgotten  in 
his  mental  turmoil,  was  still  waiting  there. 

'  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,'  the  man  said  from  round 
the  doorway ;  '  but  here's  the  note  from  Mr.  Downe 
that  you  didn't  take.  He  called  just  after  you  went 
out,  and  as  he  couldn't  wait,  he  wrote  this  on  your 
study-table.' 

He  handed  in  the  letter — no  black-bordered  one 
now,  but  a  practical-looking  note  in  the  well-known 
writing  of  the  solicitor. 

'  DEAR  BARNET  ' — it  ran — '  Perhaps  you  will  be  prepared 
for  the  information  I  am  about  to  give — that  Lucy  Savile  and 
myself  are  going  to  be  married  this  morning.  I  have  hitherto 
said  nothing  as  to  my  intention  to  any  of  my  friends,  for 
reasons  which  I  am  sure  you  will  fully  appreciate.  The  crisis 
has  been  brought  about  by  her  expressing  her  intention  to 

156 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

join  her  brother  in  India.     I  then  discovered  that  I  could  not 
do  without  her. 

'  It  is  to  be  quite  a  private  wedding ;  but  it  is  my 
particular  wish  that  you  come  down  here  quietly  at  ten,  and 
go  to  church  with  us ;  it  will  add  greatly  to  the  pleasure  I 
shall  experience  in  the  ceremony,  and,  I  believe,  to  Lucy's 
also.  I  have  called  on  you  very  early  to  make  the  request, 
in  the  belief  that  I  should  find  you  at  home ;  but  you  are 
beforehand  with  me  in  your  early  rising. — Yours  sincerely, 

1 C.  DOWNE.' 

1  Need  I  wait,  sir  ? '  said  the  servant  after  a  dead 
silence. 

*  That  will  do,  William.  No  answer,'  said  Barnet 
calmly. 

When  the  man  had  gone  Barnet  re-read  the  letter. 
Turning  eventually  to  the  wall-papers,  which  he  had 
been  at  such  pains  to  select,  he  deliberately  tore  them 
into  halves  and  quarters,  and  threw  them  into  the 
empty  fireplace.  Then  he  went  out  of  the  house, 
locked  the  door,  and  stood  in  the  front  awhile. 
Instead  of  returning  into  the  town  he  went  down  the 
harbour-road  and  thoughtfully  lingered  about  by  the 
sea,  near  the  spot  where  the  body  of  Downe's  late 
wife  had  been  found  and  brought  ashore. 

Barnet  was  a  man  with  a  rich  capacity  for  misery, 
and  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  exercised  it  to  its  fullest 
extent  now.  The  events  that  had,  as  it  were,  dashed 
themselves  together  into  one  half-hour  of  this  day 
showed  that  curious  refinement  of  cruelty  in  their 
arrangement  which  often  proceeds  from  the  bosom  of 
the  whimsical  god  at  other  times  known  as  blind 
Circumstance.  That  his  few  minutes  of  hope,  between 
the  reading  of  the  first  and  second  letters,  had  carried 
him  to  extraordinary  heights  of  rapture  was  proved 
by  the  immensity  of  his  suffering  now.  The  sun 
blazing  into  his  face  would  have  shown  a  close  watcher 
that  a  horizontal  line,  which  had  never  been  seen 
before,  but  which  was  never  to  be  gone  thereafter, 
was  somehow  gradually  forming  itself  in  the  smooth 
of  his  forehead.  His  eyes,  of  a  light  hazel,  had  a 

157 


WESSEX  TALES 

curious  look  which  can  only  be  described  by  the  word 
bruised ;  the  sorrow  that  looked  from  them  being 
largely  mixed  with  the  surprise  of  a  man  taken 
unawares. 

The  secondary  particulars  of  his  present  position, 
too,  were  odd  enough,  though  for  some  time  they 
appeared  to  engage  little  of  his  attention.  Not  a  soul 
in  the  town  knew,  as  yet,  of  his  wife's  death  ;  and  he 
almost  owed  Downe  the  kindness  of  not  publishing  it 
till  the  day  was  over :  the  conjuncture,  taken  with  that 
which  had  accompanied  the  death  of  Mrs.  Downe, 
being  so  singular  as  to  be  quite  sufficient  to  darken 
the  pleasure  of  the  impressionable  solicitor  to  a  cruel 
extent,  if  made  known  to  him.  But  as  Barnet  could 
not  set  out  on  his  journey  to  London,  where  his  wife 
lay,  for  some  hours  (there  being  at  this  date  no  rail- 
way within  a  distance  of  many  miles),  no  great  reason 
existed  why  he  should  leave  the  town. 

Impulse  in  all  its  forms  characterized  Barnet,  and 
when  he  heard  the  distant  clock  strike  the  hour  of  ten 
his  feet  began  to  carry  him  up  the  harbour-road  with 
the  manner  of  a  man  who  must  do  something  to  bring 
himself  to  life.  He  passed  Lucy  Savile's  old  house, 
his  own  new  one,  and  came  in  view  of  the  church. 
Now  he  gave  a  perceptible  start,  and  his  mechanical 
condition  went  away.  Before  the  church-gate  were  a 
couple  of  carriages,  and  Barnet  then  could  perceive 
that  the  marriage  between  Downe  and  Lucy  was  at 
that  moment  being  solemnized  within.  A  feeling  of 
sudden,  proud  self-confidence,  an  indocile  wish  to 
walk  unmoved  in  spite  of  grim  environments,  plainly 
possessed  him,  and  when  he  reached  the  wicket-gate 
he  turned  in  without  apparent  effort.  Pacing  up  the 
paved  footway  he  entered  the  church  and  stood  for  a 
while  in  the  nave  passage.  A  group  of  people  was 
standing  round  the  vestry  door ;  Barnet  advanced 
through  these  and  stepped  into  the  vestry. 

There  they  were,  busily  signing  their  names. 
Seeing  Downe  about  to  look  round  Barnet  averted 

158 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

his  somewhat  disturbed  face  for  a  second  or  two ; 
when  he  turned  again  front  to  front  he  was  calm  and 
quite  smiling ;  it  was  a  creditable  triumph  over  him- 
self, and  deserved  to  be  remembered  in  his  native 
town.  He  greeted  Downe  heartily,  offering  his  con- 
gratulations. 

It  seemed  as  if  Barnet  expected  a  half-guilty  look 
upon  Lucy's  face ;  but  no ;  save  the  natural  flush  and 
flurry  engendered  by  the  service  just  performed,  there 
was  nothing  whatever  in  her  bearing  which  showed  a 
disturbed  mind  :  her  gray-brown  eyes  carried  in  them 
now  as  at  other  times  the  well-known  expression  of 
common-sensed  rectitude  which  never  went  so  far  as 
to  touch  on  hardness.  She  shook  hands  with  him, 
and  Downe  said  warmly,  '  I  wish  you  could  have  come 
sooner :  I  called  on  purpose  to  ask  you.  You'll  drive 
back  with  us  now  ? ' 

1  No,  no,'  said  Barnet ;  '  I  am  not  at  all  prepared  ; 
but  I  thought  I  would  look  in  upon  you  for  a  moment, 
even  though  I  had  not  time  to  go  home  and  dress. 
I'll  stand  back  and  see  you  pass  out,  and  observe  the 
effect  of  the  spectacle  upon  myself  as  one  of  the 
public.' 

Then  Lucy  and  her  husband  laughed,  and  Barnet 
laughed  and  retired ;  and  the  quiet  little  party  went 
gliding  down  the  nave  and  towards  the  porch,  Lucy's 
new  silk  dress  sweeping  with  a  smart  rustle  round  the 
base-mouldings  of  the  ancient  font,  and  Downe's  little 
daughters  following  in  a  state  of  round-eyed  interest 
in  their  position,  and  that  of  Lucy,  their  teacher  and 
friend. 

So  Downe  was  comforted  after  his  Emily's  death, 
which  had  taken  place  twelve  months,  two  weeks,  and 
three  days  before  that  time. 

When  the  two  flys  had  driven  off  and  the  spec- 
tators had  vanished,  Barnet  followed  to  the  door,  and 
went  out  into  the  sun.  He  took  no  more  trouble  to 
preserve  a  spruce  exterior ;  his  step  was  unequal, 
hesitating,  almost  convulsive  ;  and  the  slight  changes 

159 


WESSEX  TALES 

of  colour  which  went  on  in  his  face  seemed  refracted 
from  some  inward  flame.  In  the  churchyard  he 
became  pale  as  a  summer  cloud,  and  finding  it  not 
easy  to  proceed  he  sat  down  on  one  of  the  tombstones 
and  supported  his  head  with  his  hand. 

Hard  by  was  a  sexton  filling  up  a  grave  which  he 
had  not  found  time  to  finish  on  the  previous  evening. 
Observing  Barnet,  he  went  up  to  him,  and  recognizing 
him,  said,  '  Shall  I  help  you  home,  sir  ? ' 

4  O  no,  thank  you/  said  Barnet,  rousing  himself 
and  standing  up.  The  sexton  returned  to  his  grave, 
followed  by  Barnet,  who,  after  watching  him  awhile, 
stepped  into  the  grave,  now  nearly  filled,  and  helped 
to  tread  in  the  earth. 

The  sexton  apparently  thought  his  conduct  a  little 
singular,  but  he  made  no  observation,  and  when  the 
grave  was  full,  Barnet  suddenly  stopped,  looked  far 
away,  and  with  a  decided  step  proceeded  to  the  gate 
and  vanished.  The  sexton  rested  on  his  shovel  and 
looked  after  him  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  began 
banking  up  the  mound. 

In  those  short  minutes  of  treading  in  the  dead 
man  Barnet  had  formed  a  design,  but  what  it  was  the 
inhabitants  of  that  town  did  not  for  some  long  time 
imagine.  He  went  home,  wrote  several  letters  of 
business,  called  on  his  lawyer,  an  old  man  of  the  same 
place  who  had  been  the  legal  adviser  of  Barnet's  father 
before  him,  and  during  the  evening  overhauled  a  large 
quantity  of  letters  and  other  documents  in  his  posses- 
sion. By  eleven  o'clock  the  heap  of  papers  in  and 
before  Barnet's  grate  had  reached  formidable  dimen- 
sions, and  he  began  to  burn  them.  This,  owing  to 
their  quantity,  it  was  not  so  easy  to  do  as  he  had 
expected,  and  he  sat  long  into  the  night  to  complete 
the  task. 

The  next  morning  Barnet  departed  for  London, 
leaving  a  note  for  Downe  to  inform  him  of  Mrs. 
Barnet's  sudden  death,  and  that  he  was  gone  to  bury 
her ;  but  when  a  thrice-sufficient  time  for  that  purpose 

1 60 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

had  elapsed,  he  was  not  seen  again  in  his  accustomed 
walks,  or  in  his  new  house,  or  in  his  old  one.  He  was 
gone  for  good,  nobody  knew  whither.  It  was  soon 
discovered  that  he  had  empowered  his  lawyer  to  dis- 
pose of  all  his  property,  real  and  personal,  in  the 
borough,  and  pay  in  the  proceeds  to  the  account  of 
an  unknown  person  at  one  of  the  large  London  banks. 
The  person  was  by  some  supposed  to  be  himself  under 
an  assumed  name ;  but  few,  if  any,  had  certain  know- 
ledge of  that  fact. 

The  elegant  new  residence  was  sold  with  the  rest 
of  his  possessions ;  and  its  purchaser  was  no  other 
than  Downe,  now  a  thriving  man  in  the  borough,  and 
one  whose  growing  family  and  new  wife  required  more 
roomy  accommodation  than  was  afforded  by  the  little 
house  up  the  narrow  side  street.  Barnet's  old  habita- 
tion was  bought  by  the  trustees  of  the  Congregational 
Baptist  body  in  that  town,  who  pulled  down  the  time- 
honoured  dwelling  and  built  a  new  chapel  on  its  site. 
By  the  time  the  last  hour  of  that,  to  Barnet,  eventful 
year  had  chimed,  every  vestige  of  him  had  disappeared 
from  the  precincts  of  his  native  place,  and  the  name 
became  extinct  in  the  borough  of  Port-Bredy,  after 
having  been  a  living  force  therein  for  more  than  two 
hundred  years. 


IX 

TWENTY-ONE  years  and  six  months  do  not  pass  with- 
out setting  a  mark  even  upon  durable  stone  and  triple 
brass ;  upon  humanity  such  a  period  works  nothing 
less  than  transformation.  In  Barnet's  old  birthplace 
vivacious  young  children  with  bones  like  india-rubber 
had  grown  up  to  be  stable  men  and  women,  men  and 
women  had  dried  in  the  skin,  stiffened,  withered,  and 
sunk  into  decrepitude ;  while  selections  from  every 
class  had  been  consigned  to  the  outlying  cemetery. 
Of  inorganic  differences  the  greatest  was  that  a  rail- 
way had  invaded  the  town,  tying  it  on  to  a  main  line 
at  a  junction  a  dozen  miles  off.  Barnet's  house  on 
the  harbour- road,  once  so  insistently  new,  had  acquired 
a  respectable  mellowness,  with  ivy,  Virginia  creepers, 
lichens,  damp  patches,  and  even  constitutional  in- 
firmities of  its  own  like  its  elder  fellows.  Its  archi- 
tecture, once  so  very  improved  and  modern,  had 
already  become  stale  in  style,  without  having  reached 
the  dignity  of  being  old-fashioned.  Trees  about  the 
harbour-road  had  increased  in  circumference  or  dis- 
appeared under  the  saw ;  while  the  church  had  had 
such  a  tremendous  practical  joke  played  upon  it  by 
some  facetious  restorer  or  other  as  to  be  scarce 
recognizable  by  its  dearest  old  friends. 

During  this  long  interval  George  Barnet  had 
never  once  been  seen  or  heard  of  in  the  town  of  his 
fathers. 

It  was  the  evening  of  a  market-day,  and  some 
half-dozen  middle-aged  farmers  and  dairymen  were 

162 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

lounging  round  the  bar  of  the  Black- Bull  Hotel, 
occasionally  dropping  a  remark  to  each  other,  and 
less  frequently  to  the  two  barmaids  who  stood  within 
the  pewter-topped  counter  in  a  perfunctory  attitude 
of  attention,  these  latter  sighing  and  making  a  private 
observation  to  one  another  at  odd  intervals,  on  more 
interesting  experiences  than  the  present. 

'  Days  get  shorter,'  said  one  of  the  dairymen,  as 
he  looked  towards  the  street,  and  noticed  that  the 
lamplighter  was  passing  by. 

The  farmers  merely  acknowledged  by  their  counte- 
nances the  propriety  of  this  remark,  and  finding  that 
nobody  else  spoke,  one  of  the  barmaids  said  '  yes,'  in 
a  tone  of  painful  duty. 

'  Come  fair-day  we  shall  have  to  light  up  before 
we  start  for  home-along.' 

'  That's  true,'  his  neighbour  conceded,  with  a  gaze 
of  blankness. 

'And  after  that  we  shan't  see  much  further 
difference  all's  winter.' 

The  rest  were  not  unwilling  to  go  even  so  far  as 
this. 

The  barmaid  sighed  again,  and  raised  one  of  her 
hands  from  the  counter  on  which  they  rested  to  scratch 
the  smallest  surface  of  her  face  with  the  smallest  of 
her  fingers.  She  looked  towards  the  door,  and 
presently  remarked,  '  I  think  I  hear  the  'bus  coming 
in  from  station.' 

The  eyes  of  the  dairymen  and  farmers  turned  to 
the  glass  door  dividing  the  hall  from  the  porch,  and 
in  a  minute  or  two  the  omnibus  drew  up  outside. 
Then  there  was  a  lumbering  down  of  luggage,  and 
then  a  man  came  into  the  hall,  followed  by  a  porter 
with  a  portmanteau  on  his  poll,  which  he  deposited 
on  a  bench. 

The  stranger  was  an  elderly  person,  with  curly 
ashen-white  hair,  a  deeply-creviced  outer  corner  to 
each  eyelid,  and  a  countenance  baked  by  innumerable 
suns  to  the  colour  of  terra-cotta,  its  hue  and  that  of 

163 


WESSEX  TALES 

his  hair  contrasting  like  heat  and  cold  respectively. 
He  walked  meditatively  and  gently,  like  one  who  was 
fearful  of  disturbing  his  own  mental  equilibrium.  But 
whatever  lay  at  the  bottom  of  his  breast  had  evidently 
made  him  so  accustomed  to  its  situation  there  that  it 
caused  him  little  practical  inconvenience. 

He  paused  in  silence  while,  with  his  dubious  eyes 
fixed  on  the  barmaids,  he  seemed  to  consider  himself. 
In  a  moment  or  two  he  addressed  them,  and  asked  to 
be  accommodated  for  the  night.  As  he  waited  he 
looked  curiously  round  the  hall,  but  said  nothing.  As 
soon  as  invited  he  disappeared  up  the  staircase,  pre- 
ceded by  a  chambermaid  and  candle,  and  followed  by 
a  lad  with  his  trunk.  Not  a  soul  had  recognized 
him. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  when  the  farmers  and 
dairymen  had  driven  off  to  their  homesteads  in  the 
country,  he  came  downstairs,  took  a  biscuit  and  one 
glass  of  wine,  and  walked  out  into  the  town,  where 
the  radiance  from  the  shop-windows  had  grown  so  in 
volume  of  late  years  as  to  flood  with  cheerfulness 
every  standing  cart,  barrow,  stall,  and  idler  that 
occupied  the  wayside,  whether  shabby  or  genteel. 
His  chief  interest  at  present  seemed  to  lie  in  the 
names  painted  over  the  shop-fronts  and  on  door- ways, 
as  far  as  they  were  visible ;  these  now  differed  to  an 
ominous  extent  from  what  they  had  been  one-and- 
twenty  years  before. 

The  traveller  passed  on  till  he  came  to  the  book- 
seller's, where  he  looked  in  through  the  glass  door. 
A  fresh-faced  young  man  was  standing  behind  the 
counter,  otherwise  the  shop  was  empty.  The  gray- 
haired  observer  entered,  asked  for  some  periodical  by 
way  of  paying  for  admission,  and  with  his  elbow  on 
the  counter  began  to  turn  over  the  pages  he  had 
bought,  though  that  he  read  nothing  was  obvious. 

At  length  he  said,  4  Is  old  Mr.  Watkins  still 
alive?'  in  a  voice  which  had  a  curious  youthful 
cadence  in  it  even  now. 

164 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

'My  father  is  dead,  sir,'  said  the  young  man. 

'Ah,  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,'  said  the  stranger. 
'  But  it  is  so  many  years  since  I  last  visited  this  town 
that  I  could  hardly  expect  it  should  be  otherwise.' 
After  a  short  silence  he  continued — '  And  is  the  firm 
of  Barnet,  Browse,  and  Company  still  in  existence  ? — 
they  used  to  be  large  flax-merchants  and  twine-spinners 
here?' 

'  The  firm  is  still  going  on,  sir,  but  they  have 
dropped  the  name  of  Barnet.  I  believe  that  was  a 
sort  of  fancy  name — at  least,  I  never  knew  of  any 
living  Barnet.  'Tis  now  Browse  and  Co.' 

'  And  does  Andrew  Jones  still  keep  on  as 
architect  ?  ' 

'  He's  dead,  sir.' 

'  And  the  vicar  of  St.  Mary's — Mr.  Melrose  ? ' 

'  He's  been  dead  a  great  many  years.' 

'  Dear  me ! '  He  paused  yet  longer,  and  cleared 
his  voice.  '  Is  Mr.  Downe,  the  solicitor,  still  in 
practice  ? ' 

*  No,  sir,  he's  dead.  He  died  about  seven  years 
ago.' 

Here  it  was  a  longer  silence  still ;  and  an  attentive 
observer  would  have  noticed  that  the  paper  in  the 
stranger's  hand  increased  its  imperceptible  tremor  to  a 
visible  shake.  That  gray-haired  gentleman  noticed  it 
himself,  and  rested  the  paper  on  the  counter.  '  Is 
Mrs.  Downe  still  alive  ? '  he  asked,  closing  his  lips 
firmly  as  soon  as  the  words  were  out  of  his  mouth,  and 
dropping  his  eyes. 

'  Yes,  sir,  she's  alive  and  well.  She's  living  at  the 
old  place.' 

'In  East  Street?' 

'  O  no ;  at  Chateau  Ringdale.  I  believe  it  has 
been  in  the  family  for  some  generations.' 

'  She  lives  with  her  children,  perhaps  ? ' 

'  No ;  she  has  no  children  of  her  own.  There 
were  some  Miss  Downes ;  I  think  they  were  Mr. 
Downe's  daughters  by  a  former  wife;  but  they  are 

165 


WESSEX  TALES 

married  and  living  in  other  parts  of  the  town.     Mrs. 
Downe  lives  alone.' 

'  Quite  alone  ? ' 

'  Yes,  sir  ;  quite  alone.' 

The  newly-arrived  gentleman  went  back  to  the 
hotel  and  dined  ;  after  which  he  made  some  change  in 
his  dress,  shaved  back  his  beard  to  the  fashion  that 
had  prevailed  twenty  years  earlier,  when  he  was  young 
and  interesting,  and  once  more  emerging,  bent  his 
steps  in  the  direction  of  the  harbour-road.  Just  before 
getting  to  the  point  where  the  pavement  ceased  and 
the  houses  isolated  themselves,  he  overtook  a  shamb- 
ling, stooping,  unshaven  man,  who  at  first  sight 
appeared  like  a  professional  tramp,  his  shoulders 
having  a  perceptible  greasiness  as  they  passed  under 
the  gaslight.  Each  pedestrian  momentarily  turned 
and  regarded  the  other,  and  the  tramp-like  gentleman 
started  back. 

1  Good — why — is  that  Mr.  Barnet  ?  'Tis  Mr. 
Barnet,  surely ! ' 

'  Yes  ;  and  you  are  Charlson  ?  ' 

'  Yes — ah — you  notice  my  appearance.  The  Fates 
have  rather  ill-used  me.  By-the-bye,  that  fifty  pounds. 
I  never  paid  it,  did  I  ?  .  .  .  But  I  was  not  un- 
grateful ! '  Here  the  stooping  man  laid  one  hand 
emphatically  on  the  palm  of  the  other.  '  I  gave  you 
a  chance,  Mr.  George  Barnet,  which  many  men  would 
have  thought  full  value  received — the  chance  to  marry 
your  Lucy.  As  far  as  the  world  was  concerned,  your 
wife  was  a  drowned  woman,  hey  ?  ' 

'  Heaven  forbid  all  that,  Charlson  ! ' 

'  Well,  well,  'twas  a  wrong  way  of  showing 
gratitude,  I  suppose.  And  now  a  drop  of  something 
to  drink  for  old  acquaintance'  sake !  And  Mr.  Barnet, 
she's  again  free — there's  a  chance  now  if  you  care  for 
it — ha,  ha  ! '  And  the  speaker  pushed  his  tongue 
into  his  hollow  cheek  and  slanted  his  eye  in  the  old 
fashion. 

'  I  know  all,'  said  Barnet  quickly  ;  and  slipping  a 

1 66 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

small  present  into  the  hands  of  the  needy,  saddening 
man,  he  stepped  ahead  and  was  soon  in  the  outskirts 
of  the  town. 

He  reached  the  harbour- road,  and  paused  before 
the  entrance  to  a  well-known  house.  It  was  so  highly 
bosomed  in  trees  and  shrubs  planted  since  the  erection 
of  the  building  that  one  would  scarcely  have  recognized 
the  spot  as  that  which  had  been  a  mere  neglected 
slope  till  chosen  as  a  site  for  a  dwelling.  He  opened 
the  swing-gate,  closed  it  noiselessly,  and  gently  moved 
into  the  semicircular  drive,  which  remained  exactly  as 
it  had  been  marked  out  by  Barnet  on  the  morning 
when  Lucy  Savile  ran  in  to  thank  him  for  procuring  her 
the  post  of  governess  to  Downe's  children.  But  the 
growth  of  trees  and  bushes  which  revealed  itself  at 
every  step  was  beyond  all  expectation  ;  sun-proof  and 
moon-proof  bowers  vaulted  the  walks,  and  the  walls 
of  the  house  were  uniformly  bearded  with  creeping 
plants  as  high  as  the  first-floor  windows. 

After  lingering  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  dusk  of 
the  bending  boughs,  the  visitor  rang  the  door-bell,  and 
on  the  servant  appearing,  he  announced  himself  as 
'an  old  friend  of  Mrs.  Downe's.' 

The  hall  was  lighted,  but  not  brightly,  the  gas 
being  turned  low,  as  if  visitors  were  rare.  There  was 
a  stagnation  in  the  dwelling ;  it  seemed  to  be  waiting. 
Could  it  really  be  waiting  for  him  ?  The  partitions 
wh;ch  had  been  probed  by  Barnet's  walking-stick  when 
the  mortar  was  green,  were  now  quite  brown  with  the 
antiquity  of  their  varnish,  and  the  ornamental  wood- 
work of  the  staircase,  which  had  glistened  with  a  pale 
yellow  newness  when  first  erected,  was  now  of  a  rich 
wine-colour.  During  the  servant's  absence  the  follow- 
ing colloquy  could  be  dimly  heard  through  the  nearly 
closed  door  of  the  drawing-room. 

4  He  didn't  give  his  name  ? ' 

4  He  only  said  "an  old  friend,"  ma'am.' 

'  What  kind  of  gentleman  is  he  ? ' 

4  A  staidish  gentleman,  with  gray  hair.' 

167 


WESSEX  TALES 

The  voice  of  the  second  speaker  seemed  to  affect 
the  listener  greatly.  After  a  pause,  the  lady  said, 
'Very  well,  I  will  see  him.' 

And  the  stranger  was  shown  in  face  to  face  with 
the  Lucy  who  had  once  been  Lucy  Savile.  The 
round  cheek  of  that  formerly  young  lady  had,  of 
course,  alarmingly  flattened  its  curve  in  her  modern 
representative ;  a  pervasive  grayness  overspread  her 
once  dark  brown  hair,  like  morning  rime  on  heather. 
The  parting  down  the  middle  was  wide  and  jagged ; 
once  it  had  been  a  thin  white  line,  a  narrow  crevice 
between  two  high  banks  of  shade.  But  there  was  still 
enough  left  to  form  a  handsome  knob  behind,  and 
some  curls  beneath  inwrought  with  a  few  hairs  like 
silver  wires  were  very  becoming.  In  her  eyes  the 
only  modification  was  that  their  originally  mild  recti- 
tude of  expression  had  become  a  little  more  stringent 
than  heretofore.  Yet  she  was  still  girlish — a  girl  who 
had  been  gratuitously  weighted  by  destiny  with  a 
burden  of  five-and-forty  years  instead  of  her  proper 
twenty. 

'  Lucy,  don't  you  know  me  ? '  he  said,  when  the 
servant  had  closed  the  door. 

'  I  knew  you  the  instant  I  saw  you  ! '  she  returned 
cheerfully.  '  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  always  thought 
you  would  come  back  to  your  old  town  again.' 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  and  then  they  sat  down. 
1  They  said  you  were  dead,'  continued  Lucy,  '  but  I 
never  thought  so.  We  should  have  heard  of  it  for 
certain  if  you  had  been.' 

'  It  is  a  very  long  time  since  we  met.' 

'  Yes  ;  what  you  must  have  seen,  Mr.  Barnet,  in  all 
these  roving  years,  in  comparison  with  what  I  have 
seen  in  this  quiet  place ! '  Her  face  grew  more 
serious.  '  You  know  my  husband  has  been  dead  a 
long  time  ?  I  am  a  lonely  old  woman  now,  con- 
sidering what  I  have  been ;  though  Mr.  Downe's 
daughters — all  married — manage  to  keep  me  pretty 
cheerful.' 

168 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

And  I  am  a  lonely  old  man,  and  have  been  any 
time  these  twenty  years.' 

'  But  where  have  you  kept  yourself  ?  And  why 
did  you  go  off  so  mysteriously  ? ' 

'  Well,  Lucy,  I  have  kept  myself  a  little  in  America, 
and  a  little  in  Australia,  a  little  in  India,  a  little  at  the 
Cape,  and  so  on ;  I  have  not  stayed  in  any  place  for 
a  long  time,  as  it  seems  to  me,  and  yet  more  than 
twenty  years  have  flown.  But  when  people  get  to  my 
age  two  years  go  like  one ! — Your  second  question, 
why  did  I  go  away  so  mysteriously,  is  surely  not 
necessary.  You  guessed  why,  didn't  you  ?  ' 

'  No,  I  never  once  guessed,'  she  said  simply  ;  'nor 
did  Charles,  nor  did  anybody  as  far  as  I  know.' 

'  Well,  indeed  !  Now  think  it  over  again,  and  then 
look  at  me,  and  say  if  you  can't  guess  ? ' 

She  looked  him  in  the  face  with  an  inquiring  smile. 
1  Surely  not  because  of  me  ? '  she  said,  pausing  at  the 
commencement  of  surprise. 

Barnet  nodded,  and  smiled  again  ;  but  his  smile 
was  sadder  than  hers. 

'  Because  I  married  Charles  ? '  she  asked. 

'  Yes  ;  solely  because  you  married  him  on  the  day 
I  was  free  to  ask  you  to  marry  me.  My  wife  died 
four-and-twenty  hours  before  you  went  to  church  with 
Downe.  The  fixing  of  my  journey  at  that  particular 
moment  was  because  of  her  funeral ;  but  once  away  I 
knew  I  should  have  no  inducement  to  come  back,  and 
took  my  steps  accordingly.' 

Her  face  assumed  an  aspect  of  gentle  reflection, 
and  she  looked  up  and  down  his  form  with  great 
interest  in  her  eyes.  '  I  never  thought  of  it ! '  she 
said.  '  I  knew,  of  course,  that  you  had  once  implied 
some  warmth  of  feeling  towards  me,  but  I  concluded 
that  it  passed  off.  And  I  have  always  been  under  the 
impression  that  your  wife  was  alive  at  the  time  of  my 
marriage.  Was  it  not  stupid  of  me! — But  you  will 
have  some  tea  or  something?  I  have  never  dined 
late,  you  know,  since  my  husband's  death.  I  have 

169 


WESSEX  TALES 

got  into  the  way  of  making  a  regular  meal  of  tea. 
You  will  have  some  tea  with  me,  will  you  not  ? ' 

The  travelled  man  assented  quite  readily,  and  tea 
was  brought  in.  They  sat  and  chatted  over  the  tray, 
regardless  of  the  flying  hour.  '  Well,  well ! '  said 
Barnet  presently,  as  for  the  first  time  he  leisurely 
surveyed  the  room  ;  '  how  like  it  all  is,  and  yet  how 
different !  Just  where  your  piano  stands  was  a  board 
on  a  couple  of  trestles,  bearing  the  patterns  of  wall- 
papers, when  I  was  last  here.  I  was  choosing  them— 
standing  in  this  way,  as  it  might  be.  Then  my 
servant  came  in  at  the  door,  and  handed  me  a  note, 
so.  It  was  from  Downe,  and  announced  that  you 
were  just  going  to  be  married  to  him.  I  chose  no 
more  wall-papers — tore  up  all  those  I  had  selected, 
and  left  the  house.  I  never  entered  it  again  till  now.' 

'  Ah,  at  last  I  understand  it  all,'  she  murmured. 

They  had  both  risen  and  gone  to  the  fireplace. 
The  mantel  came  almost  on  a  level  with  her  shoulder, 
which  gently  rested  against  it,  and  Barnet  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  shelf  close  beside  her  shoulder. 
'  Lucy,'  he  said,  '  better  late  than  never.  Will  you 
marry  me  now  ? ' 

She  started  back,  and  the  surprise  which  was  so 
obvious  in  her  wrought  even  greater  surprise  in  him 
that  it  should  be  so.  It  was  difficult  to  believe  that 
she  had  been  quite  blind  to  the  situation,  and  yet  all 
reason  and  common  sense  went  to  prove  that  she  was 
not  acting. 

'  You  take  me  quite  unawares  by  such  a  question ! ' 
she  said,  with  a  forced  laugh  of  uneasiness.  It  was 
the  first  time  she  had  shown  any  embarrassment  at 
all.  'Why,'  she  added,  '  I  couldn't  marry  you  for  the 
world.' 

4  Not  after  all  this  !     Why  not  ? ' 

1  It  is — I  would — I  really  think  I  may  say  it — I 
would  upon  the  whole  rather  marry  you,  Mr.  Barnet, 
than  any  other  man  I  have  ever  met,  if  I  ever  dreamed 
of  marriage  again.  But  I  don't  dream  of  it — it  is 

170 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

quite   out   of  my    thoughts ;    I    have    not   the    least 
intention  of  marrying  again.' 

4  But — on  my  account — couldn't  you  alter  your 
plans  a  little  ?  Come ! ' 

'  Dear  Mr.  Barnet,'  she  said  with  a  little  flutter,  '  I 
would  on  your  account  if  on  anybody's  in  existence. 
But  you  don't  know  in  the  least  what  it  is  you  are 
asking — such  an  impracticable  thing — I  won't  say 
ridiculous,  of  course,  because  I  see  that  you  are  really 
in  earnest,  and  earnestness  is  never  ridiculous  to  my 
mind.' 

4  Well,  yes,'  said  Barnet  more  slowly,  dropping  her 
hand,  which  he  had  taken  at  the  moment  of  pleading, 
4 1  am  in  earnest.  The  resolve,  two  months  ago,  at 
the  Cape,  to  come  back  once  more  was,  it  is  true, 
rather  sudden,  and  as  I  see  now,  not  well  considered. 
But  I  am  in  earnest  in  asking.' 

'  And  I  in  declining.  With  all  good  feeling  and 
all  kindness,  let  me  say  that  I  am  quite  opposed  to 
the  idea  of  marrying  a  second  time.' 

'  Well,  no  harm  has  been  done,'  he  answered,  with 
the  same  subdued  and  tender  humorousness  that  he 
had  shown  on  such  occasions  in  early  life.  '  If  you 
really  won't  accept  me,  I  must  put  up  with  it,  I  sup- 
pose.' His  eye  fell  on  the  clock  as  he  spoke.  '  Had 
you  any  notion  that  it  was  so  late? '  he  asked.  '  How 
absorbed  I  have  been ! ' 

She  accompanied  him  to  the  hall,  helped  him  to 
put  on  his  overcoat,  and  let  him  out  of  the  house 
herself. 

4  Good-night,'  said  Barnet,  on  the  doorstep,  as  the 
lamp  shone  in  his  face.  4  You  are  not  offended  with 
me?' 

4  Certainly  not.     Nor  you  with  me  ? ' 

4  I'll  consider  whether  I  am  or  not,'  he  pleasantly 
replied.  'Good-night.' 

She  watched  him  safely  through  the  gate ;  and 
when  his  footsteps  had  died  away  upon  the  road, 
closed  the  door  softly  and  returned  to  the  room. 

171 


WESSEX  TALES 

Here  the  modest  widow  long  pondered  his  speeches, 
with  eyes  dropped  to  an  unusually  low  level.  Barnet's 
urbanity  under  the  blow  of  her  refusal  greatly  im- 
pressed her.  After  having  his  long  period  of  pro- 
bation rendered  useless  by  her  decision,  he  had  shown 
no  anger,  and  had  philosophically  taken  her  words  as 
if  he  deserved  no  better  ones.  It  was  very  gentle- 
manly of  him,  certainly  ;  it  was  more  than  gentle- 
manly ;  it  was  heroic  and  grand.  The  more  she 
meditated,  the  more  she  questioned  the  virtue  of  her 
conduct  in  checking  him  so  peremptorily ;  and  went 
to  her  bedroom  in  a  mood  of  dissatisfaction.  On 
looking  in  the  glass  she  was  reminded  that  there  was 
not  so  much  remaining  of  her  former  beauty  as  to 
make  his  frank  declaration  an  impulsive  natural 
homage  to  her  cheeks  and  eyes  ;  it  must  undoubtedly 
have  arisen  from  an  old  staunch  feeling  of  his, 
deserving  tenderest  consideration.  She  recalled  to 
her  mind  with  much  pleasure  that  he  had  told  her  he 
was  staying  at  the  Black- Bull  Hotel ;  so  that  if,  after 
waiting  a  day  or  two,  he  should  not,  in  his  modesty, 
call  again,  she  might  then  send  him  a  nice  little  note. 
To  alter  her  views  for  the  present  was  far  from  her 
intention ;  but  she  would  allow  herself  to  be  induced 
to  reconsider  the  case,  as  any  generous  woman  ought 
to  do. 

The  morrow  came  and  passed,  and  Mr.  Barnet  did 
not  drop  in.  At  every  knock,  light  youthful  hues  flew 
across  her  cheek ;  and  she  was  abstracted  in  the 
presence  of  her  other  visitors.  In  the  evening  she 
walked  about  the  house,  not  knowing  what  to  do  with 
herself;  the  conditions  of  existence  seemed  totally 
different  from  those  which  ruled  only  four-and- twenty 
short  hours  ago.  What  had  been  at  first  a  tantalizing 
elusive  sentiment  was  getting  acclimatized  within  her 
as  a  definite  hope,  and  her  person  was  so  informed  by 
that  emotion  that  she  might  almost  have  stood  as  its 
emblematical  representative  by  the  time  the  clock 
struck  ten.  In  short,  an  interest  in  Barnet  precisely 

172 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 

resembling  that  of  her  early  youth  led  her  present 
heart  to  belie  her  yesterday's  words  to  him,  and  she 
longed  to  see  him  again. 

The  next  day  she  walked  out  early,  thinking  she 
might  meet  him  in  the  street.  The  growing  beauty 
of  her  romance  absorbed  her,  and  she  went  from  the 
street  to  the  fields,  and  from  the  fields  to  the  shore, 
without  any  consciousness  of  distance,  till  reminded  by 
her  weariness  that  she  could  go  no  further.  He  had 
nowhere  appeared.  In  the  evening  she  took  a  step 
which  under  the  circumstances  seemed  justifiable ; 
she  wrote  a  note  to  him  at  the  hotel,  inviting  him 
to  tea  with  her  at  six  precisely,  and  signing  her  note 
'  Lucy.' 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  messenger  came  back. 
Mr.  Barnet  had  left  the  hotel  early  in  the  morning  of 
the  day  before,  but  he  had  stated  that  he  would  prob- 
ably return  in  the  course  of  the  week. 

The  note  was  sent  back,  to  be  given  to  him  im- 
mediately on  his  arrival. 

There  was  no  sign  from  the  inn  that  this  desired 
event  had  occurred,  either  on  the  next  day  or  the  day 
following.  On  both  nights  she  had  been  restless,  and 
had  scarcely  slept  half-an-hour. 

On  the  Saturday,  putting  off  all  diffidence,  Lucy 
went  herself  to  the  Black- Bull,  and  questioned  the 
staff  closely. 

Mr.  Barnet  had  cursorily  remarked  when  leaving 
that  he  might  return  on  the  Thursday  or  Friday,  but 
they  were  directed  not  to  reserve  a  room  for  him 
unless  he  should  write. 

He  had  left  no  address. 

Lucy  sorrowfully  took  back  her  note,  went  home, 
and  resolved  to  wait. 

She  did  wait — years  and  years — but  Barnet  never 
reappeared. 

April  1880. 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 

I 

THE  north  road  from  Casterbridge  is  tedious  and 
lonely,  especially  in  winter-time.  Along  a  part  of  its 
course  it  connects  with  Long- Ash  Lane,  a  monotonous 
track  without  a  village  or  hamlet  for  many  miles,  and 
with  very  seldom  a  turning.  Unapprized  wayfarers 
who  are  too  old,  or  too  young,  or  in  other  respects 
too  weak  for  the  distance  to  be  traversed,  but  who, 
nevertheless,  have  to  walk  it,  say,  as  they  look  wist- 
fully ahead,  '  Once  at  the  top  of  that  hill,  and  I  must 
surely  see  the  end  of  Long-Ash  Lane ! '  But  they 
reach  the  hilltop,  and  Long-Ash  Lane  stretches  in 
front  as  mercilessly  as  before. 

Some  few  years  ago  a  certain  farmer  was  riding 
through  this  lane  in  the  gloom  of  a  winter  evening. 
The  farmer's  friend,  a  dairyman,  was  riding  beside 
him.  A  few  paces  in  the  rear  rode  the  farmer's  man. 
All  three  were  well  horsed  on  strong,  round-barrelled 
cobs  ;  and  to  be  well  horsed  was  to  be  in  better  spirits 
about  Long-Ash  Lane  than  poor  pedestrians  could 
attain  to  during  its  passage. 

But  the  farmer  did  not  talk  much  to  his  friend  as 
he  rode  along.  The  enterprise  which  had  brought 
him  there  filled  his  mind ;  for  in  truth  it  was  im- 
portant. Not  altogether  so  important  was  it,  perhaps, 
when  estimated  by  its  value  to  society  at  large  ;  but 
if  the  true  measure  of  a  deed  be  proportionate  to  the 
space  it  occupies  in  the  heart  of  him  who  undertakes 

177 


WESSEX  TALES 

it,  Farmer  Charles   Darton's  business  to-night  could 
hold  its  own  with  the  business  of  kings. 

He  was  a  large  farmer.  His  turnover,  as  it  is 
called,  was  probably  thirty  thousand  pounds  a  year. 
He  had  a  great  many  draught  horses,  a  great  many 
milch  cows,  and  of  sheep  a  multitude.  This  comfortable 
position  was,  however,  none  of  his  own  making.  It  had 
been  created  by  his  father,  a  man  of  a  very  different 
stamp  from  the  present  representative  of  the  line. 

Darton,  the  father,  had  been  a  one-idea'd  character, 
with  a  buttoned-up  pocket  and  a  chink-like  eye  brim- 
ming with  commercial  subtlety.  In  Darton  the 
son,  this  trade  subtlety  had  become  transmuted  into 
emotional,  and  the  harshness  had  disappeared ;  he 
would  have  been  called  a  sad  man  but  for  his  constant 
care  not  to  divide  himself  from  lively  friends  by  piping 
notes  out  of  harmony  with  theirs.  Contemplative, 
he  allowed  his  mind  to  be  a  quiet  meeting-place  for 
memories  and  hopes.  So  that,  naturally  enough,  since 
succeeding  to  the  agricultural  calling,  and  up  to  his 
present  age  of  thirty-two,  he  had  neither  advanced  nor 
receded  as  a  capitalist — a  stationary  result  which  did 
not  agitate  one  of  his  unambitious,  unstrategic  nature, 
since  he  had  all  that  he  desired.  The  motive  of 
his  expedition  to-night  showed  the  same  absence  of 
anxious  regard  for  Number  One. 

The  party  rode  on  in  the  slow,  safe  trot  proper  to 
night-time  and  bad  roads,  Farmer  Darton's  head 
jigging  rather  unromantically  up  and  down  against 
the  sky,  and  his  motions  being  repeated  with  bolder 
emphasis  by  his  friend  Japheth  Johns;  while  those  of 
the  latter  were  travestied  in  jerks  still  less  softened 
by  art  in  the  person  of  the  lad  who  attended  them. 
A  pair  of  whitish  objects  hung  one  on  each  side  of 
the  latter,  bumping  against  him  at  each  step,  and  still 
further  spoiling  the  grace  of  his  seat.  On  close  in- 
spection they  might  have  been  perceived  to  be  open 
rush  baskets — one  containing  a  turkey,  and  the  other 
some  bottles  of  wine. 

178 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 

1  D'ye  feel  ye  can  meet  your  fate  like  a  man, 
neighbour  Darton  ?  '  asked  Johns,  breaking  a  silence 
which  had  lasted  while  five-and-twenty  hedgerow  trees 
had  glided  by. 

Mr.  Darton  with  a  half-laugh  murmured,  '  Ay — 
call  it  my  fate  !  Hanging  and  wiving  go  by  destiny.' 
And  then  they  were  silent  again. 

The  darkness  thickened  rapidly,  at  intervals  shut- 
ting down  on  the  land  in  a  perceptible  flap,  like  the 
wave  of  a  wing.  The  customary  close  of  day  was 
accelerated  by  a  simultaneous  blurring  of  the  air. 
With  the  fall  of  night  had  come  a  mist  just  damp 
enough  to  incommode,  but  not  sufficient  to  saturate 
them.  Countrymen  as  they  were — born,  as  may  be 
said,  with  only  an  open  door  between  them  and  the 
four  seasons — they  regarded  the  mist  but  as  an  added 
obscuration,  and  ignored  its  humid  quality. 

They  were  travelling  in  a  direction  that  was  en- 
livened by  no  modern  current  of  traffic,  the  place  of 
Darton's  pilgrimage  being  an  old-fashioned  village — 
one  of  the  Hintocks  (several  villages  of  that  name, 
with  a  distinctive  prefix  or  affix,  lying  thereabout) — 
where  the  people  make  the  best  cider  and  cider-wine 
in  all  Wessex,  and  where  the  dunghills  smell  of 
pomace  instead  of  stable  refuse  as  elsewhere.  The 
lane  was  sometimes  so  narrow  that  the  brambles  of 
the  hedge,  which  hung  forward  like  anglers'  rods  over 
a  stream,  scratched  their  hats  and  hooked  their 
whiskers  as  they  passed.  Yet  this  neglected  lane  had 
been  a  highway  to  Queen  Elizabeth's  subjects  and 
the  cavalcades  of  the  past.  Its  day  was  over  now, 
and  its  history  as  a  national  artery  done  for  ever. 

'Why  I  have  decided  to  marry  her,'  resumed 
Darton  (in  a  measured  musical  voice  of  confidence 
which  revealed  a  good  deal  of  his  composition),  as  he 
glanced  round  to  see  that  the  lad  was  not  too  near, 
'  is  not  only  that  I  like  her,  but  that  I  can  do  no 
better,  even  from  a  fairly  practical  point  of  view. 
That  I  might  ha'  looked  higher  is  possibly  true, 

179 


WESSEX  TALES 

though  it  is  really  all  nonsense.  I  have  had  ex- 
perience enough  in  looking  above  me.  "  No  more 
superior  women  for  me,"  said  I — you  know  when. 
Sally  is  a  comely,  independent,  simple  character,  with 
no  make-up  about  her,  who'll  think  me  as  much  a 
superior  to  her  as  I  used  to  think — you  know  who  I 
mean — was  to  me.' 

'  Ay/  said  Johns.  '  However,  I  shouldn't  call 
Sally  Hall  simple.  Primary,  because  no  Sally  is  ; 
secondary,  because  if  some  could  be,  this  one  wouldn't. 
'Tis  a  wrong  denomination  to  apply  to  a  woman, 
Charles,  and  affects  me,  as  your  best  man,  like  cold 
water.  'Tis  like  recommending  a  stage  play  by  say- 
ing there's  neither  murder,  villainy,  nor  harm  of  any 
sort  in  it,  when  that's  what  you've  paid  your  half- 
crown  to  see.' 

'  Well ;  may  your  opinion  do  you  good.  Mine's  a 
different  one.'  And  turning  the  conversation  from 
the  philosophical  to  the  practical,  Darton  expressed  a 
hope  that  the  said  Sally  had  received  what  he'd  sent 
on  by  the  carrier  that  day. 

Johns  wanted  to  know  what  that  was. 

'It  is  a  dress,'  said  Darton.  '  Not  exactly  a 
wedding-dress ;  though  she  may  use  it  as  one  if  she 
likes.  It  is  rather  serviceable  than  showy — suitable 
for  the  winter  weather.' 

1  Good,'  said  Johns.  '  Serviceable  is  a  wise  word 
in  a  bridegroom.  I  commend  'ee,  Charles.' 

'  For,'  said  Darton,  '  why  should  a  woman  dress  up 
like  a  rope-dancer  because  she's  going  to  do  the  most 
solemn  deed  of  her  life  except  dying  ?  ' 

'Faith,  why?  But  she  will,  because  she  will,  I 
suppose,'  said  Dairyman  Johns. 

4  H'm,'  said  Darton. 

The  lane  they  followed  had  been  nearly  straight 
for  several  miles,  but  they  now  left  it  for  a  smaller 
one  which  after  winding  uncertainly  for  some  distance 
forked  into  two.  By  night  country  roads  are  apt  to 
reveal  ungainly  qualities  which  pass  without  observa- 

180 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 

tion  during  day ;  and  though  Darton  had  travelled 
this  way  before,  he  had  not  done  so  frequently,  Sally 
having  been  wooed  at  the  house  of  a  relative  near  his 
own.  He  never  remembered  seeing  at  this  spot  a 
pair  of  alternative  ways  looking  so  equally  probable 
as  these  two  did  now.  Johns  rode  on  a  few  steps. 

'  Don't  be  out  of  heart,  sonny,'  he  cried.  '  Here's 
a  handpost.  Ezra — come  and  climm  this  post,  and 
tell  us  the  way.' 

The  lad  dismounted,  and  jumped  into  the  hedge 
where  the  post  stood  under  a  tree. 

'  Unstrap  the  baskets,  or  you'll  smash  up  that 
wine ! '  cried  Darton,  as  the  young  man  began  spas- 
modically to  climb  the  post,  baskets  and  all. 

'  Was  there  ever  less  head  in  a  brainless  world  ? ' 
said  Johns.  '  Here,  simple  Ezzy,  I'll  do  it.'  He 
leapt  off,  and  with  much  puffing  climbed  the  post, 
striking  a  match  when  he  reached  the  top,  and  moving 
the  light  along  the  arm,  the  lad  standing  and  gazing 
at  the  spectacle. 

'  I  have  faced  tantalization  these  twenty  years  with 
a  temper  as  mild  as  milk!'  said  Japheth ;  'but  such 
things  as  this  don't  come  short  of  devilry ! '  And 
flinging  the  match  away,  he  slipped  down  to  the 
ground. 

1  What's  the  matter  ? '  asked  Darton. 

1  Not  a  letter,  sacred  or  heathen — not  so  much  as 
would  tell  us  the  way  to  the  town  of  Smokeyhole — 
ever  I  should  sin  to  say  it !  Either  the  moss  and 
mildew  have  eat  away  the  words,  or  we  have  arrived 
in  a  land  where  the  natyves  have  lost  the  art  o' 
writing,  and  should  ha'  brought  our  compass  like 
Christopher  Columbus.' 

'  Let  us  take  the  straightest  road,'  said  Darton 
placidly ;  '  I  shan't  be  sorry  to  get  there — 'tis  a  tire- 
some ride.  I  would  have  driven  if  I  had  known.' 

'  Nor  I  neither,  sir,'  said  Ezra.  '  These  straps 
plough  my  shoulder  like  a  zull.  If  'tis  much  further 
to  your  lady's  home,  Maister  Darton,  I  shall  ask  to  be 

181 


WESSEX  TALES 

let  carry  half  of  these  good  things  in  my  innerds — 
hee,  hee ! ' 

'  Don't  you  be  such  a  reforming  radical,  Ezra,' 
said  Johns  sternly.  '  Here,  I'll  take  the  turkey.' 

This  being  done,  they  went  forward  by  the  right- 
hand  lane,  which  ascended  a  hill,  the  left  winding 
away  under  a  plantation.  The  pit-a-pat  of  their 
horses'  hoofs  lessened  up  the  slope  ;  and  the  ironical 
directing-post  stood  in  solitude  as  before,  holding  out 
its  blank  arms  to  the  raw  breeze,  which  brought  a 
snore  from  the  wood  as  if  Skrymir  the  Giant  were 
sleeping  there. 


II 

THREE  miles  to  the  left  of  the  travellers,  along  the 
road  they  had  not  followed,  rose  an  old  house  with 
mullioned  windows  of  Ham-hill  stone,  and  chimneys  of 
lavish  solidity.  It  stood  at  the  top  of  a  slope  beside 
King's- Hintock  village-street,  only  a  mile  or  two  from 
King's- Hintock  Court,  yet  quite  shut  away  from  that 
mansion  and  its  precincts.  Immediately  in  front  of  it 
grew  a  large  sycamore  tree,  whose  bared  roots  formed 
a  convenient  staircase  from  the  road  below  to  the 
front  door  of  the  dwelling.  Its  situation  gave  the 
house  what  little  distinctive  name  it  possessed,  namely, 
'  The  Knap.'  Some  forty  yards  off  a  brook  dribbled 
past,  which,  for  its  size,  made  a  great  deal  of  noise. 
At  the  back  was  a  dairy  barton,  accessible  for  vehicles 
and  live-stock  by  a  side  '  drong.'  Thus  much  only  of 
the  character  of  the  homestead  could  be  divined  out 
of  doors  at  this  shady  evening-time. 

But  within  there  was  plenty  of  light  to  see  by,  as 
plenty  was  construed  at  Hintock.  Beside  a  Tudor 
fireplace,  whose  moulded  four-centred  arch  was  nearly 
hidden  by  a  figured  blue-cloth  blower,  were  seated 
two  women — mother  and  daughter — Mrs.  Hall,  and 
Sarah,  or  Sally  ;  for  this  was  a  part  of  the  world  where 
the  latter  modification  had  not  as  yet  been  effaced  as 
a  vulgarity  by  the  march  of  intellect.  The  owner  of 
the  name  was  the  young  woman  by  whose  means  Mr. 
Darton  proposed  to  put  an  end  to  his  bachelor  condi- 
tion on  the  approaching  day. 

The  mother's  bereavement  had  been  so  long  ago 

183 


WESSEX  TALES 

as  not  to  leave  much  mark  of  its  occurrence  upon  her 
now,  either  in  face  or  clothes.  She  had  resumed  the 
mob-cap  of  her  early  married  life,  enlivening  its  white- 
ness by  a  few  rose-du- Barry  ribbons.  Sally  required 
no  such  aids  to  pinkness.  Roseate  good-nature  lit  up 
her  gaze  ;  her  features  showed  curves  of  decision  and 
judgment ;  and  she  might  have  been  regarded  without 
much  mistake  as  a  warm-hearted,  quick-spirited,  hand- 
some girl. 

She  did  most  of  the  talking,  her  mother  listening 
with  a  half-absent  air,  as  she  picked  up  fragments  of 
red-hot  wood  ember  with  the  tongs,  and  piled  them 
upon  the  brands.  But  the  number  of  speeches  that 
passed  was  very  small  in  proportion  to  the  meanings 
exchanged.  Long  experience  together  often  enabled 
them  to  see  the  course  of  thought  in  each  other's 
minds  without  a  word  being  spoken.  Behind  them, 
in  the  centre  of  the  room,  the  table  was  spread  for 
supper,  certain  whiffs  of  air  laden  with  fat  vapours, 
which  ever  and  anon  entered  from  the  kitchen,  denot- 
ing its  preparation  there. 

'  The  new  gown  he  was  going  to  send  you  stays 
about  on  the  way  like  himself,'  Sally's  mother  was 
saying. 

'  Yes,  not  finished,  I  daresay,'  cried  Sally  inde- 
pendently. '  Lord,  I  shouldn't  be  amazed  if  it  didn't 
come  at  all !  Young  men  make  such  kind  promises 
when  they  are  near  you,  and  forget  'em  when  they  go 
away.  But  he  doesn't  intend  it  as  a  wedding-gown — 
he  gives  it  to  me  merely  as  a  gown  to  wear  when  I 
like — a  travelling-dress  is  what  it  would  be  called  by 
some.  Come  rathe  or  come  late  it  don't  much  matter, 
as  I  have  a  dress  of  my  own  to  fall  back  upon.  But 
what  time  is  it  ?  ' 

She  went  to  the  family  clock  and  opened  the  glass, 
for  the  hour  was  not  otherwise  discernible  by  night,  and 
indeed  at  all  times  was  rather  a  thing  to  be  investigated 
than  beheld,  so  much  more  wall  than  window  was 
there  in  the  apartment.  '  It  is  nearly  eight,'  said  she 

184 


KING'S   HINTOCK 

(Melbury  Osmund) 

Kings  Hintock  is  approximately  Melbury  Os- 
mund, a  village  near  Evershot.  The  'old  house 
with  mullioned  windows  of  Hamhill  stone,  and 
chimneys  of  lavish  solidity,'  is  still  remembered, 
but  has  been  demolished. 


as  not  to 
now,  hither  in 
mob-cap  of  her 
ness  by  a  few 
no  such  aids  u 
her  gaxe  ; 
judgnv 
much  r 
some  £••• 


exchan 
i 

•••  -fi   bl 


>  oc 

She  ha 

,  enlive- 

bons.     Sally  n 
Tood-n, 

. 

regard  out 

ick-spirited,  hand- 


of 

i  them 

speeches  that 
mean' 


for  t 


•rn, 

^fR>urs 

• 
;nmirfo 

v,,r:;;  ;-,-,,'"^   tfrd 
f  nother 


iy/  cried  Sail 
uldn't  be  amazed  if  it  di< 
;ch  kind  prom 
get  'em  when  they 

be  doesn't  intend  it  as  a  wedding-gown — 
y  as  a  gown  to  wear 
is  what  it  would  be  called  by 
.me  late  it  don't  much  ma 
a  to  fall  back  upo 

ock  and  opened  the  g 

nible  by  night,  and 
.her  a  thing  to  be  investigated 
all  than  window  was 
y  eight,'  said  she 


'Eight  o'clock,  and  neither  dress  nor  man,'  said 
Mrs.  Hall. 

'  Mother,  if  you  think  to  tantalize  me  by  talking 
like  that,  you  are  much  mistaken !  Let  him  be  as  late 
as  he  will — or  stay  away  altogether — I  don't  care,' 
said  Sally.  But  a  tender,  minute  quaver  in  the 
negation  showed  that  there  was  something  forced  in 
that  statement. 

Mrs.  Hall  perceived  it,  and  drily  observed  that 
she  was  not  so  sure  about  Sally  not  caring.  '  But 
perhaps  you  don't  care  so  much  as  I  do,  after  all,'  she 
said.  '  For  I  see  what  you  don't,  that  it  is  a  good 
and  flourishing  match  for  you ;  a  very  honourable 
offer  in  Mr.  Darton.  And  I  think  I  see  a  kind 
husband  in  him.  So  pray  God  'twill  go  smooth,  and 
wind  up  well.' 

Sally  would  not  listen  to  misgivings.  Of  course 
it  would  go  smoothly,  she  asserted.  '  How  you  are 
up  and  down,  mother ! '  she  went  on.  '  At  this 
moment,  whatever  hinders  him,  we  are  not  so  anxious 
to  see  him  as  he  is  to  be  here,  and  his  thought  runs 
on  before  him,  and  settles  down  upon  us  like  the  star 
in  the  east.  Hark!'  she  exclaimed,  with  a  breath  of 
relief,  her  eyes  sparkling.  '  I  heard  something.  Yes 
— here  they  are ! ' 

The  next  moment  her  mother's  slower  ear  also 
distinguished  the  familiar  reverberation  occasioned  by 
footsteps  clambering  up  the  roots  of  the  sycamore. 

'  Yes  it  sounds  like  them  at  last,'  she  said. 
'  Well,  it  is  not  so  very  late  after  all,  considering  the 
distance.' 

The  footfall  ceased,  and  they  arose,  expecting  a 
knock.  They  began  to  think  it  might  have  been, 
after  all,  some  neighbouring  villager  under  Bacchic 
influence,  giving  the  centre  of  the  road  a  wide  berth, 
when  their  doubts  were  dispelled  by  the  new-comer's 
entry  into  the  passage.  The  door  of  the  room  was 
gently  opened,  and  there  appeared,  not  the  pair  of 
travellers  with  whom  we  have  already  made  acquaint- 

185 


WESSEX  TALES 

ance,  but  a  pale-faced    man  in  the  garb  of  extreme 
poverty — almost  in  rags. 

'  O,  it's  a  tramp — gracious  me ! '  said  Sally,  starting 
back. 

His  cheeks  and  eye-orbits  were  deep  concaves — 
rather,  it  might  be,  from  natural  weakness  of  constitu- 
tion than  irregular  living,  though  there  were  indica- 
tions that  he  had  led  no  careful  life.  He  gazed  at 
the  two  women  fixedly  for  a  moment :  then  with  an 
abashed,  humiliated  demeanour,  dropped  his  glance 
to  the  floor,  and  sank  into  a  chair  without  uttering  a 
word. 

Sally  was  in  advance  of  her  mother,  who  had 
remained  standing  by  the  fire.  She  now  tried  to 
discern  the  visitor  across  the  candles. 

4  Why — mother,'  said  Sally  faintly,  turning  back  to 
Mrs.  Hall.  '  It  is  Phil,  from  Australia!' 

Mrs.  Hall  started,  and  grew  pale,  and  a  fit  of 
coughing  seized  the  man  with  the  ragged  clothes. 
'  To  come  home  like  this  ! '  she  said.  '  O,  Philip — are 
you  ill  ? ' 

'  No,  no,  mother,'  replied  he  impatiently,  as  soon 
as  he  could  speak. 

'  But  for  God's  sake  how  do  you  come  here — and 
just  now  too?' 

1  Well,  I  am  here,'  said  the  man.  'How  it  is  I 
hardly  know.  I've  come  home,  mother,  because  I 
was  driven  to  it.  Things  were  against  me  out  there, 
and  went  from  bad  to  worse.' 

1  Then  why  didn't  you  let  us  know  ? — you've  not 
writ  a  line  for  the  last  two  or  three  years.' 

The  son  admitted  sadly  that  he  had  not.  He  said 
that  he  had  hoped  and  thought  he  might  fetch  up 
again,  and  be  able  to  send  good  news.  Then  he  had 
been  obliged  to  abandon  that  hope,  and  had  finally 
come  home  from  sheer  necessity  —  previously  to 
making  a  new  start.  '  Yes,  things  are  very  bad 
with  me,'  he  repeated,  perceiving  their  commiserating 
glances  at  his  clothes. 

186 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 

They  brought  him  nearer  the  fire,  took  his  hat 
from  his  thin  hand,  which  was  so  small  and  smooth 
as  to  show  that  his  attempts  to  fetch  up  again  had 
not  been  in  a  manual  direction.  His  mother  resumed 
her  inquiries,  and  dubiously  asked  if  he  had  chosen  to 
come  that  particular  night  for  any  special  reason. 

For  no  reason,  he  told  her.  His  arrival  had 
been  quite  at  random.  Then  Philip  Hall  looked 
round  the  room,  and  saw  for  the  first  time  that  the 
table  was  laid  somewhat  luxuriously,  and  for  a  larger 
number  than  themselves ;  and  that  an  air  of  festivity 
pervaded  their  dress.  He  asked  quickly  what  was 
going  on. 

1  Sally  is  going  to  be  married  in  a  day  or  two,' 
replied  the  mother ;  and  she  explained  how  Mr. 
Darton,  Sally's  intended  husband,  was  coming  there 
that  night  with  the  groomsman,  Mr.  Johns,  and  other 
details.  '  We  thought  it  must  be  their  step  when  we 
heard  you,'  said  Mrs.  Hall. 

The  needy  wanderer  looked  again  on  the  floor. 
'  I  see — I  see,'  he  murmured.  '  Why,  indeed,  should 
I  have  come  to-night  ?  Such  folk  as  I  are  not 
wanted  here  at  these  times,  naturally.  And  I  have 
no  business  here — spoiling  other  people's  happiness.' 

'  Phil,'  said  his  mother,  with  a  tear  in  her  eye,  but 
with  a  thinness  of  lip  and  severity  of  manner  which 
were  presumably  not  more  than  past  events  justified  ; 
'since  you  speak  like  that  to  me,  I'll  speak  honestly 
to  you.  For  these  three  years  you  have  taken  no 
thought  for  us.  You  left  home  with  a  good  supply  of 
money,  and  strength  and  education,  and  you  ought 
to  have  made  good  use  of  it  all.  But  you  come  back 
like  a  beggar ;  and  that  you  come  in  a  very  awkward 
time  for  us  cannot  be  denied.  Your  return  to-night 
may  do  us  much  harm.  But  mind — you  are  welcome 
to  this  home  as  long  as  it  is  mine.  I  don't  wish  to 
turn  you  adrift.  We  will  make  the  best  of  a  bad  job ; 
and  I  hope  you  are  not  seriously  ill  ? ' 

'  O  no.     I  have  only  this  infernal  cough. 

187 


WESSEX  TALES 

She  looked  at  him  anxiously.  '  I  think  you  had 
better  go  to  bed  at  once,'  she  said. 

1  Well — I  shall  be  out  of  the  way  there,'  said  the 
son  wearily.  '  Having  ruined  myself,  don't  let  me 
ruin  you  by  being  seen  in  these  togs,  for  Heaven's 
sake.  Who  do  you  say  Sally  is  going  to  be  married 
to — a  Farmer  Darton  ? ' 

'  Yes — a  gentleman-farmer — quite  a  wealthy  man. 
Far  better  in  station  than  she  could  have  expected. 
It  is  a  good  thing,  altogether.' 

'  Well  done,  little  Sal ! '  said  her  brother,  brighten- 
ing and  looking  up  at  her  with  a  smile.  '  I  ought  to 
have  written ;  but  perhaps  I  have  thought  of  you  all 
the  more.  But  let  me  get  out  of  sight.  I  would 
rather  go  and  jump  into  the  river  than  be  seen  here. 
But  have  you  anything  I  can  drink  ?  I  am  con- 
foundedly thirsty  with  my  long  tramp.' 

'  Yes,  yes,  we  will  bring  something  upstairs  to 
you,'  said  Sally,  with  grief  in  her  face. 

'  Ay,  that  will  do  nicely.  But,  Sally  and  mother — ' 
He  stopped,  and  they  waited.  '  Mother,  I  have  not 
told  you  all,'  he  resumed  slowly,  still  looking  on  the 
floor  between  his  knees.  '  Sad  as  what  you  see  of  me 
is,  there's  worse  behind.' 

His  mother  gazed  upon  him  in  grieved  suspense, 
and  Sally  went  and  leant  upon  the  bureau,  listening 
for  every  sound,  and  sighing.  Suddenly  she  turned 
round,  saying,  '  Let  them  come,  I  don't  care  !  Philip, 
tell  the  worst,  and  take  your  time.' 

'  Well,  then,'  said  the  unhappy  Phil,  '  I  am  not  the 
only  one  in  this  mess.  Would  to  Heaven  I  were ! 
But ' 

'O,  Phil!' 

'  I  have  a  wife  as  destitute  as  I.' 

'  A  wife  ? '  said  his  mother. 

'  Unhappily ! ' 

'  A  wife  !     Yes,  that  is  the  way  with  sons ! ' 

1  And  besides '  said  he. 

1  Besides !     O,  Philip,  surely ' 

188 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 

'  I  have  two  little  children.' 

'  Wife  and  children ! '  whispered  Mrs.  Hall,  sinking 
down  confounded. 

'  Poor  little  things ! '  said  Sally  involuntarily. 

His  mother  turned  again  to  him.  '  I  suppose  these 
helpless  beings  are  left  in  Australia  ? ' 

'  No.     They  are  in  England.' 

'  Well,  I  can  only  hope  you've  left  them  in  a 
respectable  place.' 

'  I  have  not  left  them  at  all.  They  are  here — 
within  a  few  yards  of  us.  In  short,  they  are  in  the 
stable.' 

'Where?' 

'  In  the  stable.  I  did  not  like  to  bring  them 
indoors  till  I  had  seen  you,  mother,  and  broken  the 
bad  news  a  bit  to  you.  They  were  very  tired,  and 
are  resting  out  there  on  some  straw.' 

Mrs.  Hall's  fortitude  visibly  broke  down.  She 
had  been  brought  up  not  without  refinement,  and  was 
even  more  moved  by  such  a  collapse  of  genteel  aims 
as  this  than  a  substantial  dairyman's  widow  would  in 
ordinary  have  been  moved.  '  Well,  it  must  be  borne,' 
she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  with  her  hands  tightly  joined. 
'  A  starving  son,  a  starving  wife,  starving  children ! 
Let  it  be.  But  why  is  this  come  to  us  now,  to-day, 
to-night  ?  Could  no  other  misfortune  happen  to  help- 
less women  than  this,  which  will  quite  upset  my  poor 
girl's  chance  of  a  happy  life  ?  Why  have  you  done  us 
this  wrong,  Philip  ?  What  respectable  man  will  come 
here,  and  marry  open-eyed  into  a  family  of  vagabonds?' 

'  Nonsense,  mother  ! '  said  Sally  vehemently,  while 
her  face  flushed.  '  Charley  isn't  the  man  to  desert  me. 
But  if  he  should  be,  and  won't  marry  me  because 
Phil's  come,  let  him  go  and  marry  elsewhere.  I  won't 
be  ashamed  of  my  own  flesh  and  blood  for  any  man  in 
England — not  I !'  And  then  Sally  turned  away  and 
burst  into  tears. 

'  Wait  till  you  are  twenty  years  older  and  you  will 
tell  a  different  tale,'  replied  her  mother. 

189 


WESSEX  TALES 

The  son  stood  up.  '  Mother,'  he  said  bitterly,  'as 
I  have  come,  so  I  will  go.  All  I  ask  of  you  is  that 
you  will  allow  me  and  mine  to  lie  in  your  stable  to- 
night. I  give  you  my  word  that  we'll  be  gone  by 
break  of  day,  and  trouble  you  no  further  ! ' 

Mrs.  Hall,  the  mother,  changed  at  that.  'O  no,' 
she  answered  hastily ;  '  never  shall  it  be  said  that  1 
sent  any  of  my  own  family  from  my  door.  Bring  'em 
in,  Philip,  or  take  me  out  to  them.' 

'  We  will  put  'em  all  into  the  large  bedroom,'  said 
Sally,  brightening,  *  and  make  up  a  large  fire.  Let's 
go  and  help  them  in,  and  call  Rebekah.'  (Rebekah 
was  the  woman  who  assisted  at  the  dairy  and  house- 
work; she  lived  in  a  cottage  hard  by  with  her  husband, 
who  attended  to  the  cows.) 

Sally  went  to  fetch  a  lantern  from  the  back-kitchen, 
but  her  brother  said,  '  You  won't  want  a  light.  I  lit 
the  lantern  that  was  hanging  there.' 

4  What  must  we  call  your  wife  ?  '  asked  Mrs.  Hall. 

'  Helena,'  said  Philip. 

With  shawls  over  their  heads  they  proceeded  to- 
wards the  back  door. 

1  One  minute  before  you  go/  interrupted  Philip. 
'I — I  haven't  confessed  all.' 

'  Then  Heaven  help  us ! '  said  Mrs.  Hall,  pushing 
to  the  door  and  clasping  her  hands  in  calm  despair. 

'  We  passed  through  Evershead  as  we  came,'  he 
continued,  '  and  I  just  looked  in  at  the  "  Sow-and- 
Acorn  "  to  see  if  old  Mike  still  kept  on  there  as  usual. 
The  carrier  had  come  in  from  Sherton  Abbas  at  that 
moment,  and  guessing  that  I  was  bound  for  this  place 
— for  I  think  he  knew  me — he  asked  me  to  bring  on 
a  dressmaker's  parcel  for  Sally  that  was  marked  "  im- 
mediate." My  wife  had  walked  on  with  the  children. 
'Twas  a  flimsy  parcel,  and  the  paper  was  torn,  and  I 
found  on  looking  at  it  that  it  was  a  thick  warm  gown. 
I  didn't  wish  you  to  see  poor  Helena  in  a  shabby  state. 
I  was  ashamed  that  you  should — 'twas  not  what  she 
was  born  to.  I  untied  the  parcel  in  the  road,  took  it 

190 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 

on  to  her  where  she  was  waiting  in  the  Lower  Barn, 
and  told  her  I  had  managed  to  get  it  for  her,  and 
that  she  was  to  ask  no  question.  She,  poor  thing, 
must  have  supposed  I  obtained  it  on  trust,  through 
having  reached  a  place  where  I  was  known,  for  she 
put  it  on  gladly  enough.  She  has  it  on  now.  Sally 
has  other  gowns,  I  daresay.' 

Sally  looked  at  her  mother,  speechless. 

'  You  have  others,  I  daresay  ! '  repeated  Phil,  with  a 
sick  man's  impatience.  '  I  thought  to  myself,  "  Better 
Sally  cry  than  Helena  freeze."  Well,  is  the  dress  of 
great  consequence  ?  'Twas  nothing  very  ornamental, 
as  far  as  I  could  see.' 

'No — no;  not  of  consequence,'  returned  Sally 
sadly,  adding  in  a  gentle  voice,  '  You  will  not  mind 
if  I  lend  her  another  instead  of  that  one,  will  you  ? ' 

Philip's  agitation  at  the  confession  had  brought  on 
another  attack  of  the  cough,  which  seemed  to  shake 
him  to  pieces.  He  was  so  obviously  unfit  to  sit  in 
a  chair  that  they  helped  him  upstairs  at  once ;  and 
having  hastily  given  him  a  cordial  and  kindled  the 
bedroom  fire,  they  descended  to  fetch  their  unhappy 
new  relations. 


Ill 

IT  was  with  strange  feelings  that  the  girl  and  her 
mother,  lately  so  cheerful,  passed  out  of  the  back  door 
into  the  open  air  of  the  barton,  laden  with  hay  scents 
and  the  herby  breath  of  cows.  A  fine  sleet  had  begun 
to  fall,  and  they  trotted  across  the  yard  quickly.  The 
stable-door  was  open  ;  a  light  shone  from  it — from  the 
lantern  which  always  hung  there,  and  which  Philip 
had  lighted,  as  he  said.  Softly  nearing  the  door,  Mrs. 
Hall  pronounced  the  name  '  Helena ! ' 

There  was  no  answer  for  the  moment.  Looking  in 
she  was  taken  by  surprise.  Two  people  appeared 
before  her.  For  one,  instead  of  the  drabbish  woman 
she  had  expected,  Mrs.  Hall  saw  a  pale,  dark-eyed, 
ladylike  creature,  whose  personality  ruled  her  attire 
rather  than  was  ruled  by  it.  She  was  in  a  new  and 
handsome  gown,  Sally's  own,  and  an  old  bonnet.  She 
was  standing  up,  agitated ;  her  hand  was  held  by  her 
companion — none  else  than  Sally's  affianced,  Farmer 
Charles  Darton,  upon  whose  fine  figure  the  pale 
stranger's  eyes  were  fixed,  as  his  were  fixed  upon  her. 
His  other  hand  held  the  rein  of  his  horse,  which  was 
standing  saddled  as  if  just  led  in. 

At  sight  of  Mrs.  Hall  they  both  turned,  looking  at 
her  in  a  way  neither  quite  conscious  nor  unconscious, 
and  without  seeming  to  recollect  that  words  were 
necessary  as  a  solution  to  the  scene.  In  another 
moment  Sally  entered  also,  when  Mr.  Darton  dropped 
his  companion's  hand,  led  the  horse  aside,  and  came 
to  greet  his  betrothed  and  Mrs.  Hall. 

192 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 

1  Ah  ! '  he  said,  smiling — with  something  like  forced 
composure — 'this  is  a  roundabout  way  of  arriving, 
you  will  say,  my  dear  Mrs.  Hall.  But  we  lost  our 
way,  which  made  us  late.  I  saw  a  light  here,  and 
led  in  my  horse  at  once — my  friend  Johns  and  my 
man  have  gone  onward  to  the  little  inn  with  theirs, 
not  to  crowd  you  too  much.  No  sooner  had  I  entered 
than  I  saw  that  this  lady  had  taken  temporary  shelter 
here — and  found  I  was  intruding.' 

'She  is  my  daughter-in-law,'  said  Mrs.  Hall 
calmly.  '  My  son,  too,  is  in  the  house,  but  he  has 
gone  to  bed  unwell.' 

Sally  had  stood  staring  wonderingly  at  the  scene 
until  this  moment,  hardly  recognizing  Darton's  shake 
of  the  hand.  The  spell  that  bound  her  was  broken 
by  her  perceiving  the  two  little  children  seated  on  a 
heap  of  hay.  She  suddenly  went  forward,  spoke  to 
them,  and  took  one  on  her  arm  and  the  other  in  her 
hand. 

'  And  two  children  ? '  said  Mr.  Darton,  showing 
thus  that  he  had  not  been  there  long  enough  as  yet 
to  understand  the  situation. 

'  My  grandchildren,'  said  Mrs.  Hall,  with  as  much 
affected  ease  as  before. 

Philip  Hall's  wife,  in  spite  of  this  interruption  to 
her  first  rencounter,  seemed  scarcely  so  much  affected 
by  it  as  to  feel  any  one's  presence  in  addition  to  Mr. 
Darton's.  However,  arousing  herself  by  a  quick  re- 
flection, she  threw  a  sudden  critical  glance  of  her  sad 
eyes  upon  Mrs.  Hall ;  and,  apparently  finding  her 
satisfactory,  advanced  to  her  in  a  meek  initiative. 
Then  Sally  and  the  stranger  spoke  some  friendly 
words  to  each  other,  and  Sally  went  on  with  the 
children  into  the  house.  Mrs.  Hall  and  Helena 
followed,  and  Mr.  Darton  followed  these,  looking  at 
Helena's  dress  and  outline,  and  listening  to  her  voice 
like  a  man  in  a  dream. 

By  the  time  the  others  reached  the  house  Sally 
had  already  gone  upstairs  with  the  tired  children. 

193 


WESSEX  TALES 

She  rapped  against  the  wall  for  Rebekah  to  come  in 
and  help  to  attend  to  them,  Rebekah's  house  being 
a  little  '  spit-and-daub '  cabin  leaning  against  the  sub- 
stantial stonework  of  Mrs.  Hall's  taller  erection. 
When  she  came  a  bed  was  made  up  for  the  little 
ones,  and  some  supper  given  to  them.  On  descend- 
ing the  stairs  after  seeing  this  done  Sally  went  to  the 
sitting-room.  Young  Mrs.  Hall  entered  it  just  in 
advance  of  her,  having  in  the  interim  retired  with  her 
mother-in-law  to  take  off  her  bonnet,  and  otherwise 
make  herself  presentable.  Hence  it  was  evident  that 
no  further  communication  could  have  passed  between 
her  and  Mr.  Darton  since  their  brief  interview  in  the 
stable. 

Mr.  Japheth  Johns  now  opportunely  arrived,  and 
broke  up  the  restraint  of  the  company,  after  a  few 
orthodox  meteorological  commentaries  had  passed  be- 
tween him  and  Mrs.  Hall  by  way  of  introduction. 
They  at  once  sat  down  to  supper,  the  present  of  wine 
and  turkey  not  being  produced  for  consumption  to- 
night, lest  the  premature  display  of  those  gifts  should 
seem  to  throw  doubt  on  Mrs.  Hall's  capacities  as  a 
provider. 

'  Drink  hearty,  Mr.  Johns — drink  hearty,'  said 
that  matron  magnanimously.  '  Such  as  it  is  there's 
plenty  of.  But  perhaps  cider-wine  is  not  to  your 
taste? — though  there's  body  in  it.' 

'  Quite  the  contrairy,  ma'am — quite  the  contrairy,' 
said  the  dairyman.  '  For  though  I  inherit  the  malt- 
liquor  principle  from  my  father,  I  am  a  cider-drinker 
on  my  mother's  side.  She  came  from  these  parts,  you 
know.  And  there's  this  to  be  said  for't — 'tis  a  more 
peaceful  liquor,  and  don't  lie  about  a  man  like  your 
hotter  drinks.  With  care,  one  may  live  on  it  a  twelve- 
month without  knocking  down  a  neighbour,  or  getting 
a  black  eye  from  an  old  acquaintance.' 

The  general  conversation  thus  begun  was  con- 
tinued briskly,  though  it  was  in  the  main  restricted 
to  Mrs.  Hall  and  Japheth,  who  in  truth  required  but 

194 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 

little  help  from  anybody.  There  being  slight  call  upon 
Sally's  tongue,  she  had  ample  leisure  to  do  what  her 
heart  most  desired,  namely,  watch  her  intended  hus- 
band and  her  sister-in-law  with  a  view  of  elucidating 
the  strange  momentary  scene  in  which  her  mother 
and  herself  had  surprised  them  in  the  stable.  If  that 
scene  meant  anything,  it  meant,  at  least,  that  they 
had  met  before.  That  there  had  been  no  time  for 
explanations  Sally  could  see,  for  their  manner  was 
still  one  of  suppressed  amazement  at  each  other's 
presence  there.  Barton's  eyes,  too,  fell  continually 
on  the  gown  worn  by  Helena  as  if  this  were  an  added 
riddle  to  his  perplexity ;  though  to  Sally  it  was  the 
one  feature  in  the  case  which  was  no  mystery.  He 
seemed  to  feel  that  fate  had  impishly  changed  his 
vis-a-vis  in  the  lover's  jig  he  was  about  to  foot ;  that 
while  the  gown  had  been  expected  to  enclose  a  Sally, 
a  Helena's  face  looked  out  from  the  bodice ;  that  some 
long-lost  hand  met  his  own  from  the  sleeves. 

Sally  could  see  that  whatever  Helena  might  know 
of  Darton,  she  knew  nothing  of  how  the  dress  entered 
into  his  embarrassment.  And  at  moments  the  young 
girl  would  have  persuaded  herself  that  Darton's  looks 
at  her  sister-in-law  were  entirely  the  fruit  of  the 
clothes  query.  But  surely  at  other  times  a  more 
extensive  range  of  speculation  and  sentiment  was 
expressed  by  her  lover's  eye  than  that  which  the 
changed  dress  would  account  for. 

Sally's  independence  made  her  one  of  the  least 
jealous  of  women.  But  there  was  something  in  the 
relations  of  these  two  visitors  which  ought  to  be 
explained. 

Japheth  Johns  continued  to  converse  in  his  well- 
known  style,  interspersing  his  talk  with  some  private 
reflections  on  the  position  of  Darton  and  Sally,  which, 
though  the  sparkle  in  his  eye  showed  them  to  be 
highly  entertaining  to  himself,  were  apparently  not 
quite  communicable  to  the  company.  At  last  he  with- 
drew for  the  night,  going  off  to  the  roadside  inn  half- 

195 


WESSEX  TALES 

a-mile  ahead,  whither  Darton  promised  to  follow  him 
in  a  few  minutes. 

Half-an-hour  passed,  and  then  Mr.  Darton  also 
rose  to  leave,  Sally  and  her  sister-in-law  simultaneously 
wishing  him  good-night  as  they  retired  upstairs  to 
their  rooms.  But  on  his  arriving  at  the  front  door 
with  Mrs.  Hall  a  sharp  shower  of  rain  began  to  come 
down,  when  the  widow  suggested  that  he  should 
return  to  the  fireside  till  the  storm  ceased. 

Darton  accepted  her  proposal,  but  insisted  that, 
as  it  was  getting  late,  and  she  was  obviously  tired, 
she  should  not  sit  up  on  his  account,  since  he  could 
let  himself  out  of  the  house,  and  would  quite  enjoy 
smoking  a  pipe  by  the  hearth  alone.  Mrs.  Hall 
assented  ;  and  Darton  was  left  by  himself.  He  spread 
his  knees  to  the  brands,  lit  up  his  tobacco  as  he  had 
said,  and  sat  gazing  into  the  fire,  and  at  the  notches  of 
the  chimney-crook  which  hung  above. 

An  occasional  drop  of  rain  rolled  down  the  chimney 
with  a  hiss,  and  still  he  smoked  on  ;  but  not  like  a 
man  whose  mind  was  at  rest.  In  the  long  run, 
however,  despite  his  meditations,  early  hours  afield 
and  a  long  ride  in  the  open  air  produced  their  natural 
result.  He  began  to  doze. 

How  long  he  remained  in  this  half-unconscious 
state  he  did  not  know.  He  suddenly  opened  his  eyes. 
The  back-brand  had  burnt  itself  in  two,  and  ceased  to 
flame ;  the  light  which  he  had  placed  on  the  mantel- 
piece had  nearly  gone  out.  But  in  spite  of  these 
deficiencies  there  was  a  light  in  the  apartment,  and  it 
came  from  elsewhere.  Turning  his  head  he  saw 
Philip  Hall's  wife  standing  at  the  entrance  of  the 
room  with  a  bed-candle  in  one  hand,  a  small  brass  tea- 
kettle in  the  other,  and  his  gown,  as  it  certainly 
seemed,  still  upon  her. 

4  Helena ! '  said  Darton,  starting  up. 

Her  countenance  expressed  dismay,  and  her  first 
words  were  an  apology.  '  I — did  not  know  you  were 
here,  Mr.  Darton,  she  said,  while  a  blush  flashed  to 

196 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 

her  cheek.  '  I  thought  every  one  had  retired — I  was 
coming  to  make  a  little  water  boil ;  my  husband 
seems  to  be  worse.  But  perhaps  the  kitchen  fire  can 
be  lighted  up  again.' 

'  Don't  go  on  my  account.  By  all  means  put  it  on 
here  as  you  intended,  said  Darton.  'Allow  me  to 
help  you.'  He  went  forward  to  take  the  kettle  from 
her  hand,  but  she  did  not  allow  him,  and  placed  it  on 
the  fire  herself. 

They  stood  some  way  apart,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  fireplace,  waiting  till  the  water  should  boil,  the 
candle  on  the  mantel  between  them,  and  Helena  with 
her  eyes  on  the  kettle.  Darton  was  the  first  to  break 
the  silence.  '  Shall  I  call  Sally  ? '  he  said. 

1  O  no,'  she  quickly  returned.  '  We  have  given 
trouble  enough  already.  We  have  no  right  here.  But 
we  are  the  sport  of  fate,  and  were  obliged  to  come.' 

'  No  right  here  ! '  said  he  in  surprise. 

'  None.  I  can't  explain  it  now,'  answered  Helena. 
'This  kettle  is  very  slow.' 

There  was  another  pause ;  the  proverbial  dila- 
toriness  of  watched  pots  was  never  more  clearly 
exemplified. 

Helena's  face  was  of  that  sort  which  seems  to  ask 
for  assistance  without  the  owner's  knowledge  —  the 
very  antipodes  of  Sally's,  which  was  self-reliance 
expressed.  Darton's  eyes  travelled  from  the  kettle 
to  Helena's  face,  then  back  to  the  kettle,  then  to  the 
face  for  rather  a  longer  time.  '  So  I  am  not  to  know 
anything  of  the  mystery  that  has  distracted  me  all  the 
evening?'  he  said.  'How  is  it  that  a  woman,  who 
refused  me  because  (as  I  supposed)  my  position  was 
not  good  enough  for  her  taste,  is  found  to  be  the  wife 
of  a  man  who  certainly  seems  to  be  worse  off  than  I  ? ' 

1  He  had  the  prior  claim,'  said  she. 

1  What !  you  knew  him  at  that  time  ? ' 

'  Yes,  yes !  And  he  went  to  Australia,  and  sent 
for  me,  and  I  joined  him  out  there ! ' 

4  Ah — that  was  the  mystery  ! ' 

197 


WESSEX  TALES 

'  Please  say  no  more,'  she  implored.  '  Whatever 
my  errors,  I  have  paid  for  them  during  the  last  five 
years ! ' 

The  heart  of  Darton  was  subject  to  sudden  over- 
flowings. He  was  kind  to  a  fault.  '  I  am  sorry 
from  my  soul,'  he  said,  involuntarily  approaching  her. 
Helena  withdrew  a  step  or  two,  at  which  he  became 
conscious  of  his  movement,  and  quickly  took  his 
former  place.  Here  he  stood  without  speaking,  and 
the  little  kettle  began  to  sing. 

'  Well,  you  might  have  been  my  wife  if  you  had 
chosen,'  he  said  at  last.  '  But  that's  all  past  and 
gone.  However,  if  you  are  in  any  trouble  or  poverty 
I  shall  be  glad  to  be  of  service,  and  as  your  relation 
by  marriage  I  shall  have  a  right  to  be.  Does  your 
uncle  know  of  your  distress  ?  ' 

'  My  uncle  is  dead.  He  left  me  without  a  farthing. 
And  now  we  have  two  children  to  maintain.' 

'What,  left  you  nothing?  How  could  he  be  so 
cruel  as  that  ?  ' 

1 1  disgraced  myself  in  his  eyes.' 

'  Now,'  said  Darton  earnestly,  '  let  me  take  care  of 
the  children,  at  least  while  you  are  so  unsettled.  You 
belong  to  another,  so  I  cannot  take  care  of  you.' 

'  Yes  you  can,'  said  a  voice ;  and  suddenly  a  third 
figure  stood  beside  them.  It  was  Sally.  '  You  can, 
since  you  seem  to  wish  to  ?  '  she  repeated.  '  She  no 
longer  belongs  to  another.  ...  My  poor  brother  is 
dead! 

Her  face  was  red,  her  eyes  sparkled,  and  all  the 
woman  came  to  the  front.  '  I  have  heard  it ! '  she 
went  on  to  him  passionately.  '  You  can  protect  her 
now  as  well  as  the  children  ! '  She  turned  then  to  her 
agitated  sister-in-law.  '  I  heard  something,'  said  Sally 
(in  a  gentle  murmur,  differing  much  from  her  previous 
passionate  words),  'and  I  went  into  his  room.  It 
must  have  been  the  moment  you  left.  He  went  off 
so  quickly,  and  weakly,  and  it  was  so  unexpected, 
that  I  couldn't  leave  even  to  call  you.' 

198 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 

Darton  was  just  able  to  gather  from  the  confused 
discourse  which  followed  that,  during  his  sleep  by  the 
fire,  Sally's  brother  whom  he  had  never  seen  had  become 
worse ;  and  that  during  Helena's  absence  for  water 
the  end  had  unexpectedly  come.  The  two  young 
women  hastened  upstairs,  and  he  was  again  left  alone. 

After  standing  there  a  short  time  he  went  to  the 
front  door  and  looked  out ;  till,  softly  closing  it  behind 
him,  he  advanced  and  stood  under  the  large  sycamore- 
tree.  The  stars  were  flickering  coldly,  and  the  damp- 
ness which  had  just  descended  upon  the  earth  in  rain 
now  sent  up  a  chill  from  it.  Darton  was  in  a  strange 
position,  and  he  felt  it.  The  unexpected  appearance, 
in  deep  poverty,  of  Helena — a  young  lady,  daughter 
of  a  deceased  naval  officer,  who  had  been  brought  up 
by  her  uncle,  a  solicitor,  and  had  refused  Darton  in 
marriage  years  ago  —  the  passionate,  almost  angry 
demeanour  of  Sally  at  discovering  them,  the  abrupt 
announcement  that  Helena  was  a  widow  ;  all  this 
coming  together  was  a  conjuncture  difficult  to  cope 
with  in  a  moment,  and  made  him  question  whether 
he  ought  to  leave  the  house  or  offer  assistance.  But 
for  Sally's  manner  he  would  unhesitatingly  have  done 
the  latter. 

He  was  still  standing  under  the  tree  when  the 
door  in  front  of  him  opened,  and  Mrs.  Hall  came  out. 
She  went  round  to  the  garden-gate  at  the  side  without 
seeing  him.  Darton  followed  her,  intending  to  speak. 
Pausing  outside,  as  if  in  thought,  she  proceeded  to  a 
spot  where  the  sun  came  earliest  in  spring-time,  and 
where  the  north  wind  never  blew ;  it  was  where  the 
row  of  beehives  stood  under  the  wall.  Discerning 
her  object,  he  waited  till  she  had  accomplished  it. 

It  was  the  universal  custom  thereabout  to  wake 
the  bees  by  tapping  at  their  hives  whenever  a  death 
occurred  in  the  household,  under  the  belief  that  if  this 
were  not  done  the  bees  themselves  would  pine  away 
and  perish  during  the  ensuing  year.  As  soon  as  an 

199 


WESSEX  TALES 

interior  buzzing  responded  to  her  tap  at  the  first  hive 
Mrs.  Hall  went  on  to  the  second,  and  thus  passed 
down  the  row.  As  soon  as  she  came  back  he  met 
her. 

'What  can  I  do  in  this  trouble,  Mrs.  Hall?'  he 
said. 

1  O — nothing,  thank  you,  nothing,'  she  said  in  a 
tearful  voice,  now  just  perceiving  him.  '  We  have 
called  Rebekah  and  her  husband,  and  they  will  do 
everything  necessary.'  She  told  him  in  a  few  words 
the  particulars  of  her  son's  arrival,  broken  in  health 
— indeed,  at  death's  very  door,  though  they  did  not 
suspect  it — and  suggested,  as  the  result  of  a  conversa- 
tion between  her  and  her  daughter,  that  the  wedding 
should  be  postponed. 

'  Yes,  of  course,'  said  Darton.  '  I  think  now  to 
go  straight  to  the  inn  and  tell  Johns  what  has 
happened.'  It  was  not  till  after  he  had  shaken  hands 
with  her  that  he  turned  hesitatingly  and  added,  '  Will 
you  tell  the  mother  of  his  children  that,  as  they  are 
now  left  fatherless,  I  shall  be  glad  to  take  the  eldest 
of  them,  if  it  would  be  any  convenience  to  her  and  to 
you? ' 

Mrs.  Hall  promised  that  her  son's  widow  should 
be  told  of  the  offer,  and  they  parted.  He  retired 
down  the  rooty  slope  and  disappeared  in  the  direction 
of  the  inn,  where  he  informed  Johns  of  the  circum- 
stances. Meanwhile  Mrs.  Hall  had  entered  the  house. 
Sally  was  downstairs  in  the  sitting-room  alone,  and 
her  mother  explained  to  her  that  Darton  had  readily 
assented  to  the  postponement. 

'  No  doubt  he  has,'  said  Sally,  with  sad  emphasis. 
1  It  is  not  put  off  for  a  week,  or  a  month,  or  a  year. 
I  shall  never  marry  him,  and  she  will ! ' 


IV 

TIME  passed,  and  the  household  on  the  Knap  became 
again  serene  under  the  composing  influences  of  daily 
routine.  A  desultory,  very  desultory  correspondence, 
dragged  on  between  Sally  Hall  and  Darton,  who, 
not  quite  knowing  how  to  take  her  petulant  words 
on  the  night  of  her  brother's  death,  had  continued 
passive  thus  long.  Helena  and  her  children  remained 
at  the  dairy-house,  almost  of  necessity,  and  Darton 
therefore  deemed  it  advisable  to  stay  away. 

One  day,  seven  months  later  on,  when  Mr.  Darton 
was  as  usual  at  his  farm,  twenty  miles  from  King's- 
Hintock,  a  note  reached  him  from  Helena.  She 
thanked  him  for  his  kind  offer  about  her  children, 
which  her  mother-in-law  had  duly  communicated,  and 
stated  that  she  would  be  glad  to  accept  it  as  regarded 
the  eldest,  the  boy.  Helena  had,  in  truth,  good 
need  to  do  so,  for  her  uncle  had  left  her  penniless, 
and  all  application  to  some  relatives  in  the  north 
had  failed.  There  was,  besides,  as  she  said,  no  good 
school  near  Hintock  to  which  she  could  send  the 
child. 

On  a  fine  summer  day  the  boy  came.  He  was 
accompanied  half-way  by  Sally  and  his  mother — to 
the  '  White  Horse,'  the  fine  old  Elizabethan  inn  at 
Chalk  Newton,1  where  he  was  handed  over  to  Darton's 
bailiff  in  a  shining  spring-cart,  who  met  them  there. 

He  was   entered   as   a   day-scholar  at  a  popular 

1  It  is  now  pulled  down,  and  its  site  occupied  by  a  modern  one  in  red  brick 
(1912). 

2O I 


WESSEX  TALES 

school  at  Casterbridge,  three  or  four  miles  from 
Barton's,  having  first  been  taught  by  Darton  to  ride 
a  forest-pony,  on  which  he  cantered  to  and  from  the 
aforesaid  fount  of  knowledge,  and  (as  Darton  hoped) 
brought  away  a  promising  headful  of  the  same  at 
each  diurnal  expedition.  The  thoughtful  taciturnity 
into  which  Darton  had  latterly  fallen  was  quite  dis- 
sipated by  the  presence  of  this  boy. 

When  the  Christmas  holidays  came  it  was  arranged 
that  he  should  spend  them  with  his  mother.  The 
journey  was,  for  some  reason  or  other,  performed  in 
two  stages,  as  at  his  coming,  except  that  Darton  in 
person  took  the  place  of  the  bailiff,  and  that  the  boy 
and  himself  rode  on  horseback. 

Reaching  the  renowned  'White  Horse,'  Darton 
inquired  if  Miss  and  young  Mrs.  Hall  were  there  to 
meet  little  Philip  (as  they  had  agreed  to  be).  He 
was  answered  by  the  appearance  of  Helena  alone  at 
the  door. 

'  At  the  last  moment  Sally  would  not  come,'  she 
faltered. 

That  meeting  practically  settled  the  point  towards 
which  these  long-severed  persons  were  converging. 
But  nothing  was  broached  about  it  for  some  time  yet. 
Sally  Hall  had,  in  fact,  imparted  the  first  decisive 
motion  to  events  by  refusing  to  accompany  Helena. 
She  soon  gave  them  a  second  move  by  writing  the 
following  note : — 

4  [Private.] 

'  DEAR  CHARLES, — Living  here  so  long  and  intimately 
with  Helena,  I  have  naturally  learnt  her  history,  especially 
that  of  it  which  refers  to  you.  I  am  sure  she  would  accept 
you  as  a  husband  at  the  proper  time,  and  I  think  you  ought 
to  give  her  the  opportunity.  You  inquire  in  an  old  note  if 
I  am  sorry  that  I  showed  temper  (which  it  wasn't}  that  night 
when  I  heard  you  talking  to  her.  No,  Charles,  I  am  not 
sorry  at  all  for  what  I  said  then. — Yours  sincerely, 

'  SALLY  HALL.' 

Thus  set  in  train,  the  transfer  of  Darton's  heart 

202 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 

back  to  its  original  quarters  proceeded  by  mere  lapse 
of  time.  In  the  following  July,  Darton  went  to  his 
friend  Japheth  to  ask  him  at  last  to  fulfil  the  bridal 
office  which  had  been  in  abeyance  since  the  previous 
January  twelvemonths. 

1  With  all  my  heart,  man  o'  constancy ! '  said 
Dairyman  Johns  warmly.  '  I've  lost  most  of  my 
genteel  fair  complexion  haymaking  this  hot  weather, 
'tis  true,  but  I'll  do  your  business  as  well  as  them 
that  look  better.  There  be  scents  and  good  hair-oil 
in  the  world  yet,  thank  God,  and  they'll  take  off  the 
roughest  o'  my  edge.  I'll  compliment  her.  "  Better 
late  than  never,  Sally  Hall,"  I'll  say.' 

'  It  is  not  Sally,'  said  Darton  hurriedly.  '  It  is 
young  Mrs.  Hall.' 

Japheth's  face,  as  soon  as  he  really  comprehended, 
became  a  picture  of  reproachful  dismay.  'Not  Sally?' 
he  said.  4  Why  not  Sally  ?  I  can't  believe  it !  Young 
Mrs.  Hall !  Well,  well — where's  your  wisdom  ? ' 

Darton  shortly  explained  particulars ;  but  Johns 
would  not  be  reconciled.  '  She  was  a  woman  worth 
having  if  ever  woman  was,'  he  cried.  '  And  now  to 
let  her  go  ! ' 

1  But  I  suppose  I  can  marry  where  I  like,'  said 
Darton. 

'  H'm,'  replied  the  dairyman,  lifting  his  eyebrows 
expressively.  '  This  don't  become  you,  Charles — it 
really  do  not.  If  I  had  done  such  a  thing  you  would 
have  sworn  I  was  a  curst  no'thern  fool  to  be  drawn 
off  the  scent  by  such  a  red-herring  doll-oll-oll.' 

Farmer  Darton  responded  in  such  sharp  terms 
to  this  laconic  opinion  that  the  two  friends  finally 
parted  in  a  way  they  had  never  parted  before.  Johns 
was  to  be  no  groomsman  to  Darton  after  all.  He 
had  flatly  declined.  Darton  went  off  sorry,  and  even 
unhappy,  particularly  as  Japheth  was  about  to  leave 
that  side  of  the  county,  so  that  the  words  which  had 
divided  them  were  not  likely  to  be  explained  away 
or  softened  down. 

203 


WESSEX  TALES 

A  short  time  after  the  interview  Darton  was  united 
to  Helena  at  a  simple  matter-of-fact  wedding ;  and 
she  and  her  little  girl  joined  the  boy  who  had  already 
grown  to  look  on  Darton's  house  as  home. 

For  some  months  the  farmer  experienced  an  un- 
precedented happiness  and  satisfaction.  There  had 
been  a  flaw  in  his  life,  and  it  was  as  neatly  mended 
as  was  humanly  possible.  But  after  a  season  the 
stream  of  events  followed  less  clearly,  and  there  were 
shades  in  his  reveries.  Helena  was  a  fragile  woman, 
of  little  staying  power,  physically  or  morally,  and 
since  the  time  that  he  had  originally  known  her — 
eight  or  ten  years  before — she  had  been  severely 
tried.  She  had  loved  herself  out,  in  short,  and  was 
now  occasionally  given  to  moping.  Sometimes  she 
spoke  regretfully  of  the  gentilities  of  her  early  life, 
and  instead  of  comparing  her  present  state  with  her 
condition  as  the  wife  of  the  unlucky  Hall,  she  mused 
rather  on  what  it  had  been  before  she  took  the  first 
fatal  step  of  clandestinely  marrying  him.  She  did 
not  care  to  please  such  people  as  those  with  whom 
she  was  thrown  as  a  thriving  farmer's  wife.  She 
allowed  the  pretty  trifles  of  agricultural  domesticity 
to  glide  by  her  as  sorry  details,  and  had  it  not  been 
for  the  children  Darton's  house  would  have  seemed 
but  little  brighter  than  it  had  been  before. 

This  led  to  occasional  unpleasantness,  until  Darton 
sometimes  declared  to  himself  that  such  endeavours 
as  his  to  rectify  early  deviations  of  the  heart  by 
harking  back  to  the  old  point  mostly  failed  of  success. 
'  Perhaps  Johns  was  right,'  he  would  say.  '  I  should 
have  gone  on  with  Sally.  Better  go  with  the  tide 
and  make  the  best  of  its  course  than  stem  it  at  the 
risk  of  a  capsize.'  But  he  kept  these  unmelodious 
thoughts  to  himself,  and  was  outwardly  considerate 
and  kind. 

This  somewhat  barren  tract  of  his  life  had  extended 
to  less  than  a  year  and  a  half  when  his  ponderings 
were  cut  short  by  the  loss  of  the  woman  they  con- 

204 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 

earned.  When  she  was  in  her  grave  he  thought 
better  of  her  than  when  she  had  been  alive  ;  the  farm 
was  a  worse  place  without  her  than  with  her,  after 
all.  No  woman  short  of  divine  could  have  gone 
through  such  an  experience  as  hers  with  her  first 
husband  without  becoming  a  little  soured.  Her 
stagnant  sympathies,  her  sometimes  unreasonable 
manner,  had  covered  a  heart  frank  and  well  meaning, 
and  originally  hopeful  and  warm.  She  left  him  a 
tiny  red  infant  in  white  wrappings.  To  make  life 
as  easy  as  possible  to  this  touching  object  became 
at  once  his  care. 

As  this  child  learnt  to  walk  and  talk  Darton  learnt 
to  see  feasibility  in  a  scheme  which  pleased  him. 
Revolving  the  experiment  which  he  had  hitherto 
made  upon  life,  he  fancied  he  had  gained  wisdom 
from  his  mistakes  and  caution  from  his  miscarriages. 

What  the  scheme  was  needs  no  penetration  to 
discover.  Once  more  he  had  opportunity  to  recast 
and  rectify  his  ill-wrought  situations  by  returning  to 
Sally  Hall,  who  still  lived  quietly  on  under  her 
mother's  roof  at  Hintock.  Helena  had  been  a  woman 
to  lend  pathos  and  refinement  to  a  home  ;  Sally  was 
the  woman  to  brighten  it.  She  would  not,  as  Helena 
did,  despise  the  rural  simplicities  of  a  farmer's  fireside. 
Moreover,  she  had  a  pre-eminent  qualification  for 
Darton's  household ;  no  other  woman  could  make 
so  desirable  a  mother  to  her  brother's  two  children 
and  Darton's  one  as  Sally — while  Darton,  now  that 
Helena  had  gone,  was  a  more  promising  husband 
for  Sally  than  he  had  ever  been  when  liable  to 
reminders  from  an  uncured  sentimental  wound. 

Darton  was  not  a  man  to  act  rapidly,  and  the 
working  out  of  his  reparative  designs  might  have 
been  delayed  for  some  time.  But  there  came  a 
winter  evening  precisely  like  the  one  which  had 
darkened  over  that  former  ride  to  Hintock,  and  he 
asked  himself  why  he  should  postpone  longer,  when  the 
very  landscape  called  for  a  repetition  of  that  attempt. 

205 


WESSEX  TALES 

He  told  his  man  to  saddle  the  mare,  booted  and 
spurred  himself  with  a  younger  horseman's  nicety, 
kissed  the  two  youngest  children,  and  rode  off.  To 
make  the  journey  a  complete  parallel  to  the  first, 
he  would  fain  have  had  his  old  acquaintance  Japheth 
Johns  with  him.  But  Johns,  alas !  was  missing. 
His  removal  to  the  other  side  of  the  county  had 
left  unrepaired  the  breach  which  had  arisen  between 
him  and  Darton ;  and  though  Darton  had  forgiven 
him  a  hundred  times,  as  Johns  had  probably  forgiven 
Darton,  the  effort  of  reunion  in  present  circumstances 
was  one  not  likely  to  be  made. 

He  screwed  himself  up  to  as  cheerful  a  pitch  as 
he  could  without  his  former  crony,  and  became  con- 
tent with  his  own  thoughts  as  he  rode,  instead  of 
the  words  of  a  companion.  The  sun  went  down ; 
the  boughs  appeared  scratched  in  like  an  etching 
against  the  sky ;  old  crooked  men  with  faggots  at 
their  backs  said  '  Good-night,  sir,'  and  Darton  replied 
1  Good-night '  right  heartily. 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  forking  roads  it  was 
getting  as  dark  as  it  had  been  on  the  occasion  when 
Johns  climbed  the  directing-post.  Darton  made  no 
mistake  this  time.  '  Nor  shall  I  be  able  to  mistake, 
thank  Heaven,  when  I  arrive,'  he  murmured.  It 
gave  him  peculiar  satisfaction  to  think  that  the  pro- 
posed marriage,  like  his  first,  was  of  the  nature  of 
setting  in  order  things  long  awry,  and  not  a  moment- 
ary freak  of  fancy. 

Nothing  hindered  the  smoothness  of  his  journey, 
which  seemed  not  half  its  former  length.  Though 
dark,  it  was  only  between  five  and  six  o'clock  when 
the  bulky  chimneys  of  Mrs.  Hall's  residence  appeared 
in  view  behind  the  sycamore -tree.  On  second 
thoughts  he  retreated  and  put  up  at  the  ale-house 
as  in  former  time ;  and  when  he  had  plumed  himself 
before  the  inn  mirror,  called  for  something  to  drink, 
and  smoothed  out  the  incipient  wrinkles  of  care,  he 
walked  on  to  the  Knap  with  a  quick  step. 

206 


THAT  evening  Sally  was  making  'pinners'  for  the 
milkers,  who  were  now  increased  by  two,  for  her  mother 
and  herself  no  longer  joined  in  milking  the  cows  them- 
selves. But  upon  the  whole  there  was  little  change  in 
the  household  economy,  and  not  much  in  its  appearance, 
beyond  such  minor  particulars  as  that  the  crack  over 
the  window,  which  had  been  a  hundred  years  coming, 
was  a  trifle  wider ;  that  the  beams  were  a  shade 
blacker  ;  that  the  influence  of  modernism  had  sup- 
planted the  open  chimney  corner  by  a  grate ;  that 
Rebekah,  who  had  worn  a  cap  when  she  had  plenty  of 
hair,  had  left  it  off  now  she  had  scarce  any,  because  it 
was  reported  that  caps  were  not  fashionable  ;  and  that 
Sally's  face  had  naturally  assumed  a  more  womanly 
and  experienced  cast. 

Mrs.  Hall  was  actually  lifting  coals  with  the  tongs, 
as  she  had  used  to  do. 

'  Five  years  ago  this  very  night,  if  I  am  not 
mistaken '  she  said,  laying  on  an  ember. 

'  Not  this  very  night — though  'twas  one  night  this 
week,'  said  the  correct  Sally. 

'  Well,  'tis  near  enough.  Five  years  ago  Mr. 
Darton  came  to  marry  you,  and  my  poor  boy  Phil 
came  home  to  die.'  She  sighed.  'Ah,  Sally,'  she 
presently  said,  '  if  you  had  managed  well  Mr.  Darton 
would  have  had  you,  Helena  or  none.' 

'  Don't  be  sentimental  about  that,  mother,'  begged 
Sally.  '  I  didn't  care  to  manage  well  in  such  a  case. 
Though  I  liked  him,  I  wasn't  so  anxious.  I  would 

207 


WESSEX  TALES 

never  have  married  the  man  in  the  midst  of  such  a 
hitch  as  that  was,'  she  added  with  decision  ;  'and  I 
don't  think  I  would  if  he  were  to  ask  me  now.' 

'  I  am  not  sure  about  that,  unless  you  have  another 
in  your  eye.' 

'  I  wouldn't ;  and  I'll  tell  you  why.  I  could  hardly 
marry  him  for  love  at  this  time  o'  day.  And  as  we've 
quite  enough  to  live  on  if  we  give  up  the  dairy  to- 
morrow, I  should  have  no  need  to  marry  for  any 
meaner  reason.  ...  I  am  quite  happy  enough  as  I 
am,  and  there's  an  end  of  it.' 

Now  it  was  not  long  after  this  dialogue  that  there 
came  a  mild  rap  at  the  door,  and  in  a  moment  there 
entered  Rebekah,  looking  as  though  a  ghost  had 
arrived.  The  fact  was  that  that  accomplished 
skimmer  and  churner  (now  a  resident  in  the  house) 
had  overheard  the  desultory  observations  between 
mother  and  daughter,  and  on  opening  the  door  to  Mr. 
Darton  thought  the  coincidence  must  have  a  grisly 
meaning  in  it.  Mrs.  Hall  welcomed  the  farmer  with 
warm  surprise,  as  did  Sally,  and  for  a  moment  they 
rather  wanted  words. 

4  Can  you  push  up  the  chimney-crook  for  me,  Mr. 
Darton  ?  the  notches  hitch,'  said  the  matron.  He  did 
it,  and  the  homely  little  act  bridged  over  the  awkward 
consciousness  that  he  had  been  a  stranger  for  four 
years. 

Mrs.  Hall  soon  saw  what  he  had  come  for,  and  left 
the  principals  together  while  she  went  to  prepare  him 
a  late  tea,  smiling  at  Sally's  recent  hasty  assertions 
of  indifference,  when  she  saw  how  civil  Sally  was. 
When  tea  was  ready  she  joined  them.  She  fancied 
that  Darton  did  not  look  so  confident  as  when  he  had 
arrived ;  but  Sally  was  quite  light-hearted,  and  the 
meal  passed  pleasantly. 

About  seven  he  took  his  leave  of  them.  Mrs.  Hall 
went  as  far  as  the  door  to  light  him  down  the  slope. 
On  the  doorstep  he  said  frankly — 

'  I  came  to  ask  your  daughter  to  marry  me  ;  chose 

208 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 

the  night  and  everything,  with  an  eye  to  a  favourable 
answer.  But  she  won't/ 

'  Then  she's  a  very  ungrateful  girl ! '  emphatically 
said  Mrs.  Hall. 

Darton  paused  to  shape  his  sentence,  and  asked, 
'  I — I  suppose  there's  nobody  else  more  favoured  ? ' 

'  I  can't  say  that  there  is,  or  that  there  isn't,' 
answered  Mrs.  Hall.  'She's  private  in  some  things. 
I'm  on  your  side,  however,  Mr.  Darton,  and  I'll  talk 
to  her.' 

'  Thank  'ee,  thank  'ee ! '  said  the  farmer  in  a  gayer 
accent ;  and  with  this  assurance  the  not  very  satis- 
factory visit  came  to  an  end.  Darton  descended  the 
roots  of  the  sycamore,  the  light  was  withdrawn,  and 
the  door  closed.  At  the  bottom  of  the  slope  he  nearly 
ran  against  a  man  about  to  ascend. 

'  Can  a  jack-o'-lent  believe  his  few  senses  on  such 
a  dark  night,  or  can't  he  ? '  exclaimed  one  whose 
utterance  Darton  recognized  in  a  moment,  despite  its 
unexpectedness.  '  I  dare  not  swear  he  can,  though  I 
fain  would  ! '  The  speaker  was  Johns. 

Darton  said  he  was  glad  of  this  opportunity,  bad  as 
it  was,  of  putting  an  end  to  the  silence  of  years,  and 
asked  the  dairyman  what  he  was  travelling  that 
way  for. 

Japheth  showed  the  old  jovial  confidence  in  a 
moment.  '  I'm  going  to  see  your — relations — as  they 
always  seem  to  me,'  he  said — '  Mrs.  Hall  and  Sally. 
Well,  Charles,  the  fact  is  I  find  the  natural  barbarous- 
ness  of  man  is  much  increased  by  a  bachelor  life,  and, 
as  your  leavings  were  always  good  enough  for  me, 
I'm  trying  civilisation  here.'  He  nodded  towards  the 
house. 

1  Not  with  Sally — to  marry  her  ? '  said  Darton, 
feeling  something  like  a  rill  of  ice  water  between  his 
shoulders. 

4  Yes,  by  the  help  of  Providence  and  my  personal 
charms.  And  I  think  I  shall  get  her.  I  am  this  road 
every  week — my  present  dairy  is  only  four  miles  off, 

209 


WESSEX  TALES 

you  know,  and  I  see  her  through  the  window.  'Tis 
rather  odd  that  I  was  going  to  speak  practical  to-night 
to  her  for  the  first  time.  You've  just  called  ? ' 

1  Yes,  for  a  short  while.  But  she  didn't  say  a  word 
about  you.' 

1 A  good  sign,  a  good  sign.  Now  that  decides  me. 
I'll  swing  the  mallet  and  get  her  answer  this  very 
night  as  I  planned.' 

A  few  more  remarks,  and  Darton,  wishing  his 
friend  joy  of  Sally  in  a  slightly  hollow  tone  of  jocularity, 
bade  him  good-bye.  Johns  promised  to  write  par- 
ticulars, and  ascended,  and  was  lost  in  the  shade  of  the 
house  and  tree.  A  rectangle  of  light  appeared  when 
Johns  was  admitted,  and  all  was  dark  again. 

'  Happy  Japheth  ! '  said  Darton.  '  This  then  is  the 
explanation ! ' 

He  determined  to  return  home  that  night.  In  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  he  passed  out  of  the  village,  and 
the  next  day  went  about  his  swede-lifting  and  storing 
as  if  nothing  had  occurred. 

He  waited  and  waited  to  hear  from  Johns  whether 
the  wedding-day  was  fixed :  but  no  letter  came.  He 
learnt  not  a  single  particular  till,  meeting  Johns  one 
day  at  a  horse-auction,  Darton  exclaimed  genially — 
rather  more  genially  than  he  felt — 'When  is  the 
joyful  day  to  be  ? ' 

To  his  great  surprise  a  reciprocity  of  gladness  was 
not  conspicuous  in  Johns.  '  Not  at  all,'  he  said,  in  a 
very  subdued  tone.  '  'Tis  a  bad  job  ;  she  won't  have 
me.' 

Darton  held  his  breath  till  he  said  with  treacherous 
solicitude,  '  Try  again — 'tis  coyness.' 

4  O  no/  said  Johns  decisively.  '  There's  been  none 
of  that.  We  talked  it  over  dozens  of  times  in  the 
most  fair  and  square  way.  She  tells  me  plainly,  I 
don't  suit  her.  'Twould  be  simply  annoying  her  to 
ask  her  again.  Ah,  Charles,  you  threw  a  prize  away 
when  you  let  her  slip  five  years  ago.' 

'  I  did — I  did,'  said  Darton. 

210 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 

He  returned  from  that  auction  with  a  new  set  of 
feelings  in  play.  He  had  certainly  made  a  surprising 
mistake  in  thinking  Johns  his  successful  rival.  It 
really  seemed  as  if  he  might  hope  for  Sally  after  all. 

This  time,  being  rather  pressed  by  business,  Darton 
had  recourse  to  pen-and-ink,  and  wrote  her  as  manly 
and  straightforward  a  proposal  as  any  woman  could 
wish  to  receive.  The  reply  came  promptly  : — 

'  DEAR  MR.  DARTON, — I  am  as  sensible  as  any  woman 
can  be  of  the  goodness  that  leads  you  to  make  me  this  offer  a 
second  time.  Better  women  than  I  would  be  proud  of  the 
honour,  for  when  I  read  your  nice  long  speeches  on  mangold- 
wurzel,  and  such  like  topics,  at  the  Casterbridge  Farmers'  Club, 
I  do  feel  it  an  honour,  I  assure  you.  But  my  answer  is  just 
the  same  as  before.  I  will  not  try  to  explain  what,  in  truth, 
I  cannot  explain — my  reasons ;  I  will  simply  say  that  I  must 
decline  to  be  married  to  you.  With  good  wishes  as  in  former 
times,  I  am,  your  faithful  friend,  '  SALLY  HALL.' 

Darton  dropped  the  letter  hopelessly.  Beyond 
the  negative,  there  was  just  a  possibility  of  sarcasm  in 
it — '  nice  long  speeches  on  mangold-wurzel '  had  a 
suspicious  sound.  However,  sarcasm  or  none,  there 
was  the  answer,  and  he  had  to  be  content. 

He  proceeded  to  seek  relief  in  a  business  which  at 
this  time  engrossed  much  of  his  attention — that  of 
clearing  up  a  curious  mistake  just  current  in  the 
county,  that  he  had  been  nearly  ruined  by  the  recent 
failure  of  a  local  bank.  A  farmer  named  Darton  had 
lost  heavily,  and  the  similarity  of  name  had  probably 
led  to  the  error.  Belief  in  it  was  so  persistent  that  it 
demanded  several  days  of  letter-writing  to  set  matters 
straight,  and  persuade  the  world  that  he  was  as  sol- 
vent as  ever  he  had  been  in  his  life.  He  had  hardly 
concluded  this  worrying  task  when,  to  his  delight, 
another  letter  arrived  in  the  handwriting  of  Sally. 

Darton  tore  it  open  ;  it  was  very  short. 

DEAR  MR.  DARTGN, — We  have  been  so  alarmed  these 
last  few  days  by  the  report  that  you  were  ruined  by  the 

stoppage  of 's  Bank,  that,  now  it  is  contradicted,  I  hasten, 

21 1 


WESSEX  TALES 

by  my  mother's  wish,  to  say  how  truly  glad  we  are  to  find 
there  is  no  foundation  for  the  report.  After  your  kindness  to 
my  poor  brother's  children,  I  can  do  no  less  than  write  at  such 
a  moment.  We  had  a  letter  from  each  of  them  a  few  days 
ago. — Your  faithful  friend,  '  SALLY  HALL.' 

'  Mercenary  little  woman  ! '  said  Darton  to  himself 
with  a  smile.  '  Then  that  was  the  secret  of  her 
refusal  this  time — she  thought  I  was  ruined.' 

Now,  such  was  Darton,  that  as  hours  went  on  he 
could  not  help  feeling  too  generously  towards  Sally 
to  condemn  her  in  this.  What  did  he  want  in  a  wife  ? 
he  asked  himself.  Love  and  integrity.  What  next  ? 
Worldly  wisdom.  And  was  there  really  more  than 
worldly  wisdom  in  her  refusal  to  go  aboard  a  sinking 
ship  ?  She  now  knew  it  was  otherwise.  '  Begad,'  he 
said,  '  I'll  try  her  again.' 

The  fact  was  he  had  so  set  his  heart  upon  Sally, 
and  Sally  alone,  that  nothing  was  to  be  allowed  to 
baulk  him ;  and  his  reasoning  was  purely  formal. 

Anniversaries  having  been  unpropitious,  he  waited 
on  till  a  bright  day  late  in  May — a  day  when  all 
animate  nature  was  fancying,  in  its  trusting,  foolish 
way,  that  it  was  going  to  bask  under  blue  sky  for  ever- 
more. As  he  rode  through  Long-Ash  Lane  it  was 
scarce  recognizable  as  the  track  of  his  two  winter 
journeys.  No  mistake  could  be  made  now,  even  with 
his  eyes  shut.  The  cuckoo's  note  was  at  its  best, 
between  April  tentativeness  and  midsummer  decrepi- 
tude, and  the  reptiles  in  the  sun  behaved  as  winningly 
as  kittens  on  a  hearth.  Though  afternoon,  and  about 
the  same  time  as  on  the  last  occasion,  it  was  broad 
day  and  sunshine  when  he  entered  Hintock,  and  the 
details  of  the  Knap  dairy-house  were  visible  far  up 
the  road.  He  saw  Sally  in  the  garden,  and  was  set 
vibrating.  He  had  first  intended  to  go  on  to  the 
inn ;  but  '  No/  he  said ;  'I'll  tie  my  horse  to  the 
garden-gate.  If  all  goes  well  it  can  soon  be  taken 
round  :  if  not,  I  mount  and  ride  away.' 

The  tall  shade  of  the  horseman  darkened  the  room 

212 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 

in  which  Mrs.  Hall  sat,  and  made  her  start,  for  he 
had  ridden  by  a  side  path  to  the  top  of  the  slope, 
where  riders  seldom  came.  In  a  few  seconds  he  was 
in  the  garden  with  Sally. 

Five — ay,  three  minutes — did  the  business  at  the 
back  of  that  row  of  bees.  Though  spring  had  come, 
and  heavenly  blue  consecrated  the  scene,  Darton  suc- 
ceeded not.  '  No,1  said  Sally  firmly.  '  I  will  never, 
never  marry  you,  Mr.  Darton.  I  would  have  done  it 
once  ;  but  now  I  never  can.' 

'  But ! ' — implored  Mr.  Darton.  And  with  a  burst 
of  real  eloquence  he  went  on  to  declare  all  sorts  of 
things  that  he  would  do  for  her.  He  would  drive  her 
to  see  her  mother  every  week — take  her  to  London — 
settle  so  much  money  upon  her — Heaven  knows  what 
he  did  not  promise,  suggest,  and  tempt  her  with.  But 
it  availed  nothing.  She  interposed  with  a  stout 
negative  which  closed  the  course  of  his  argument  like 
an  iron  gate  across  a  highway.  Darton  paused. 

'  Then,'  said  he  simply,  '  you  hadn't  heard  of  my 
supposed  failure  when  you  declined  last  time  ? ' 

'I  had  not,'  she  said.  'That  you  believed  me 
capable  of  refusing  you  for  such  a  reason  does  not 
help  your  cause.' 

'And  'tis  not  because  of  any  soreness  from  my 
slighting  you  years  ago  ? ' 

'  No.     That  soreness  is  long  past.' 

'  Ah — then  you  despise  me,  Sally ! ' 

'  No,'  she  slowly  answered.  '  I  don't  altogether 
despise  you.  '  I  don't  think  you  quite  such  a  hero  as 
I  once  did — that's  all.  The  truth  is,  I  am  happy 
enough  as  I  am ;  and  I  don't  mean  to  marry  at  all. 
Now,  may  /  ask  a  favour,  sir  ?  '  She  spoke  with  an 
ineffable  charm,  which,  whenever  he  thought  of  it, 
made  him  curse  his  loss  of  her  as  long  as  he  lived. 

'  To  any  extent.' 

'  Please  do  not  put  this  question  to  me  any  more. 
Friends  as  long  as  you  like,  but  lovers  and  married 
never.' 

213 


WESSEX  TALES 

'  I  never  will,'  said  Darton.  '  Not  if  I  live  a 
hundred  years.' 

And  he  never  did.  That  he  had  worn  out  his 
welcome  in  her  heart  was  only  too  plain. 

When  his  step-children  had  grown  up  and  were 
placed  out  in  life  all  communication  between  Darton 
and  the  Hall  family  ceased.  It  was  only  by  chance 
that,  years  after,  he  learnt  that  Sally,  notwithstanding 
the  solicitations  her  attractions  drew  down  upon  her, 
had  refused  several  offers  of  marriage,  and  steadily 
adhered  to  her  purpose  of  leading  a  single  life. 

May  1884. 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 


HOW  HIS  COLD  WAS  CURED 

I 

SOMETHING  delayed  the  arrival  of  the  Wesleyan 
minister,  and  a  young  man  came  temporarily  in  his 
stead.  It  was  on  the  thirteenth  of  January  183-  that 
Mr.  Stockdale,  the  young  man  in  question,  made  his 
humble  entry  into  the  village,  unknown,  and  almost 
unseen.  But  when  those  of  the  inhabitants  who  styled 
themselves  of  his  connection  became  acquainted  with 
him,  they  were  rather  pleased  with  the  substitute  than 
otherwise,  though  he  had  scarcely  as  yet  acquired 
ballast  of  character  sufficient  to  steady  the  consciences 
of  the  hundred-and-forty  Methodists  of  pure  blood 
who,  at  this  time,  lived  in  Nether-Moynton,  and  to 
give  in  addition  supplementary  support  to  the  mixed 
race  which  went  to  church  in  the  morning  and  chapel 
in  the  evening,  or  when  there  was  a  tea — as  many  as 
a  hundred-and-ten  people  more,  all  told,  and  including 
the  parish-clerk  in  the  winter-time,  when  it  was  too 
dark  for  the  vicar  to  observe  who  passed  up  the  street 
at  seven  o'clock — which,  to  be  just  to  him,  he  was 
never  anxious  to  do. 

It  was  owing  to  this  overlapping  of  creeds  that  the 
celebrated  population-puzzle  arose  among  the  denser 
gentry  of  the  district  around  Nether-Moynton :  how 
could  it  be  that  a  parish  containing  fifteen  score  of 
strong  full-grown  Episcopalians,  and  nearly  thirteen 
score  of  well-matured  Dissenters,  numbered  barely 
two-and-twenty  score  adults  in  all  ? 

217 


WESSEX  TALES 

The  young  man  being  personally  interesting,  those 
with  whom  he  came  in  contact  were  content  to  waive 
for  a  while  the  graver  question  of  his  sufficiency.  It 
is  said  that  at  this  time  of  his  life  his  eyes  were 
affectionate,  though  without  a  ray  of  levity ;  that  his 
hair  was  curly,  and  his  figure  tall ;  that  he  was,  in 
short,  a  very  lovable  youth,  who  won  upon  his  female 
hearers  as  soon  as  they  saw  and  heard  him,  and  caused 
them  to  say,  'Why  didn't  we  know  of  this  before  he 
came,  that  we  might  have  gi'ed  him  a  warmer  welcome!' 

The  fact  was  that,  knowing  him  to  be  only  pro- 
visionally selected,  and  expecting  nothing  remarkable 
in  his  person  or  doctrine,  they  and  the  rest  of  his  flock 
in  Nether-Moynton  had  felt  almost  as  indifferent  about 
his  advent  as  if  they  had  been  the  soundest  church- 
going  parishioners  in  the  country,  and  he  their  true 
and  appointed  parson.  Thus  when  Stockdale  set  foot 
in  the  place  nobody  had  secured  a  lodging  for  him, 
and  though  his  journey  had  given  him  a  bad  cold  in 
the  head  he  was  forced  to  attend  to  that  business 
himself.  On  inquiry  he  learnt  that  the  only  possible 
accommodation  in  the  village  would  be  found  at  the 
house  of  one  Mrs.  Lizzy  Newberry,  at  the  upper  end 
of  the  street. 

It  was  a  youth  who  gave  this  information,  and 
Stockdale  asked  him  who  Mrs.  Newberry  might  be. 

The  boy  said  that  she  was  a  widow- woman,  who 
had  got  no  husband,  because  he  was  dead.  Mr. 
Newberry,  he  added,  had  been  a  well-to-do  man 
enough,  as  the  saying  was,  and  a  farmer ;  but  he  had 
gone  off  in  a  decline.  As  regarded  Mrs.  Newberry's 
serious  side,  Stockdale  gathered  that  she  was  one  of 
the  trimmers  who  went  to  church  and  chapel  both. 

'  I'll  go  there,'  said  Stockdale,  feeling  that,  in  the 
absence  of  purely  sectarian  lodgings,  he  could  do  no 
better. 

'  She's  a  little  particular,  and  won't  hae  gover'ment 
folks,  or  curates,  or  the  pa'son's  friends,  or  such  like/ 
said  the  lad  dubiously. 

218 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

'Ah,  that  may  be  a  promising  sign  :  I'll  call.  Or 
no  ;  just  you  go  up  and  ask  first  if  she  can  find  room 
for  me.  I  have  to  see  one  or  two  persons  on  another 
matter.  You  will  find  me  down  at  the  carrier's.' 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  lad  came  back,  and 
said  that  Mrs.  Newberry  would  have  no  objection  to 
accommodate  him,  whereupon  Stockdale  called  at  the 
house.  It  stood  within  a  garden-hedge,  and  seemed 
to  be  roomy  and  comfortable.  He  saw  an  elderly 
woman,  with  whom  he  made  arrangements  to  come 
the  same  night,  since  there  was  no  inn  in  the  place, 
and  he  wished  to  house  himself  as  soon  as  possible ; 
the  village  being  a  local  centre  from  which  he  was  to 
radiate  at  once  to  the  different  small  chapels  in  the 
neighbourhood.  He  forthwith  sent  his  luggage  to 
Mrs.  Newberry's  from  the  carrier's,  where  he  had 
taken  shelter,  and  in  the  evening  walked  up  to  his 
temporary  home. 

As  he  now  lived  there,  Stockdale  felt  it  unnecessary 
to  knock  at  the  door  ;  and  entering  quietly  he  had  the 
pleasure  of  hearing  footsteps  scudding  away  like  mice 
into  the  back  quarters.  He  advanced  to  the  parlour, 
as  the  front  room  was  called,  though  its  stone  floor 
was  scarcely  disguised  by  the  carpet,  which  only  over- 
laid the  trodden  areas,  leaving  sandy  deserts  under  the 
furniture.  But  the  room  looked  snug  and  cheerful. 
The  firelight  shone  out  brightly,  trembling  on  the 
bulging  mouldings  of  the  table-legs,  playing  with  brass 
knobs  and  handles,  and  lurking  in  great  strength  on 
the  under  surface  of  the  chimney-piece.  A  deep 
arm-chair,  covered  with  horsehair,  and  studded  with 
a  countless  throng  of  brass  nails,  was  pulled  up  on 
one  side  of  the  fireplace.  The  tea-things  were  on  the 
table,  the  teapot  cover  was  open,  and  a  little  handbell 
had  been  laid  at  that  precise  point  towards  which  a 
person  seated  in  the  great  chair  might  be  expected 
instinctively  to  stretch  his  hand. 

Stockdale  sat  down,  not  objecting  to  his  experience 
of  the  room  thus  far,  and  began  his  residence  by 

219 


WESSEX  TALES 

tinkling  the  bell.  A  little  girl  crept  in  at  the  summons, 
and  made  tea  for  him.  Her  name,  she  said,  was 
Marther  Sarer,  and  she  lived  out  there,  nodding 
towards  the  road  and  village  generally.  Before  Stock- 
dale  had  got  far  with  his  meal  a  tap  sounded  on  the  door 
behind  him,  and  on  his  telling  the  inquirer  to  come  in, 
a  rustle  of  garments  caused  him  to  turn  his  head.  He 
saw  before  him  a  fine  and  extremely  well-made  young 
woman,  with  dark  hair,  a  wide,  sensible,  beautiful  fore- 
head, eyes  that  warmed  him  before  he  knew  it,  and  a 
mouth  that  was  in  itself  a  picture  to  all  appreciative  souls. 

'Can  I  get  you  anything  else  for  tea?'  she  said, 
coming  forward  a  step  or  two,  an  expression  of 
liveliness  on  her  features,  and  her  hand  waving  the 
door  by  its  edge. 

'  Nothing,  thank  you,'  said  Stockdale,  thinking  less 
of  what  he  replied  than  of  what  might  be  her  relation 
to  the  household. 

'  You  are  quite  sure  ? '  said  the  young  woman, 
apparently  aware  that  he  had  not  considered  his 
answer. 

He  conscientiously  examined  the  tea-things,  and 
found  them  all  there.  '  Quite  sure,  Miss  Newberry,' 
he  said. 

'  It  is  Mrs.  Newberry,'  she  said.  '  Lizzy  Newberry. 
I  used  to  be  Lizzy  Simpkins.' 

'O,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Newberry.'  And 
before  he  had  occasion  to  say  more  she  left  the  room. 

Stockdale  remained  in  some  doubt  till  Martha 
Sarah  came  to  clear  the  table.  'Whose  house  is  this, 
my  little  woman  ? '  said  he. 

'  Mrs.  Lizzy  Newberry 's,  sir.' 

'  Then  Mrs.  Newberry  is  not  the  old  lady  I  saw 
this  afternoon  ? ' 

'  No.  That's  Mrs.  Newberry's  mother.  It  was 
Mrs.  Newberry  who  corned  in  to  you  just  by  now, 
because  she  wanted  to  see  if  you  was  good-looking.' 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  Stockdale  was  about  to 
begin  supper,  she  came  again.  '  I  have  come  myself, 

220 


NETHER-MOYNTON   VILLAGE 

(Owermoigne  Village) 

Nether-Moynton,  the  name  used  for  the  little 
village  of  Owermoigne,  lying  just  back  off  the 
road  from  Weymouth  or  Dorchester  to  Wareham, 
is  the  background  for  the  story,  'The  Distracted 
Preacher.'  The  village  is  only  a  few  miles  from 
the  coast,  and  was  formerly  the  home  of  many 
a  smuggler.  The  house,  which  stands  almost 
opposite  to  the  rectory,  was  used  as  the  model 
for  the  house  in  which  Lizzie  Newbury  was  sup- 
posed to  have  lived. 


V  Iltt 

Mai- 

dale  his  meal  a 

behind  'ling  th-  ™> 

\m  to  turn 

'  K«»-  •  hat  w 

ao/wiji\ 

•Vnr  exr. 
>*iofrt*  <W$ti- 

N  rnor 

o  the^°  >f^J  70^  hnu0"1?^^  ^^  «i 

'  \f^o't  «?{irrr.  w*'1 
vtt      •toviMferit^?  ->h-)fr 


*    rforrl  .Tjljj.' 

.  t  ntious  me_^B 

Sfi  ^J 

•'  •'.'  ........  jrfi  io1 

(  T  . 

I  used 

'O,    I    be;  ;*ardon,    Mrs.   Newbe 

v  more  she  left 

'Whose  house 


•  he  old  lady  I  saw 

•trs.   Newberry's  mother.  ,   It  was 
comer;  you  just   I 

f  you  was  good-lookii 

i.le  was  about  to 
me  again.     '  I  have  come  nr 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

Mr.  Stockdale,'  she  said.  The  minister  stood  up  in 
acknowledgment  of  the  honour.  '  I  am  afraid  little 
Marther  might  not  make  you  understand.  What  will 
you  have  for  supper  ? — there's  cold  rabbit,  and  there's 
a  ham  uncut.' 

Stockdale  said  he  could  get  on  nicely  with  those 
viands,  and  supper  was  laid.  He  had  no  more  than 
cut  a  slice  when  tap-tap  came  to  the  door  again.  The 
minister  had  already  learnt  that  this  particular  rhythm 
in  taps  denoted  the  fingers  of  his  enkindling  landlady, 
and  the  doomed  young  fellow  buried  his  first  mouthful 
under  a  look  of  receptive  blandness. 

'  We  have  a  chicken  in  the  house,  Mr.  Stockdale — 
I  quite  forgot  to  mention  it  just  now.  Perhaps  you 
would  like  Marther  Sarer  to  bring  it  up  ? ' 

Stockdale  had  advanced  far  enough  in  the  art  of 
being  a  young  man  to  say  that  he  did  not  want  the 
chicken,  unless  she  brought  it  up  herself ;  but  when  it 
was  uttered  he  blushed  at  the  daring  gallantry  of  the 
speech,  perhaps  a  shade  too  strong  for  a  serious  man 
and  a  minister.  In  three  minutes  the  chicken  appeared, 
but,  to  his  great  surprise,  only  in  the  hands  of  Martha 
Sarah.  Stockdale  was  disappointed,  which  perhaps  it 
was  intended  that  he  should  be. 

He  had  finished  supper,  and  was  not  in  the  least 
anticipating  Mrs.  Newberry  again  that  night,  when  she 
tapped  and  entered  as  before.  Stockdale's  gratified 
look  told  that  she  had  lost  nothing  by  not  appearing 
when  expected.  It  happened  that  the  cold  in  the  head 
from  which  the  young  man  suffered  had  increased  with 
the  approach  of  night,  and  before  she  had  spoken  he 
was  seized  with  a  violent  fit  of  sneezing  which  he  could 
not  anyhow  repress. 

Mrs.  Newberry  looked  full  of  pity.  '  Your  cold  is 
very  bad  to-night,  Mr.  Stockdale.' 

Stockdale  replied  that  it  was  rather  troublesome. 

'  And  I've  a  good  mind — '  she  added  archly,  looking 
at  the  cheerless  glass  of  water  on  the  table,  which  the 
abstemious  minister  was  going  to  drink. 

221 


WESSEX  TALES 

'  Yes,  Mrs.  Newberry  ? ' 

'  I've  a  good  mind  that  you  should  have  something 
more  likely  to  cure  it  than  that  cold  stuff.' 

'Well,'  said  Stockdale,  looking  down  at  the  glass, 
'  as  there  is  no  inn  here,  and  nothing  better  to  be  got 
in  the  village,  of  course  it  will  do.' 

To  this  she  replied,  '  There  is  something  better, 
not  far  off,  though  not  in  the  house.  I  really  think 
you  must  try  it,  or  you  may  be  ill.  Yes,  Mr.  Stock- 
dale,  you  shall.'  She  held  up  her  finger,  seeing  that 
he  was  about  to  speak.  '  Don't  ask  what  it  is ;  wait, 
and  you  shall  see.' 

Lizzy  went  away,  and  Stockdale  waited  in  a 
pleasant  mood.  Presently  she  returned  with  her 
bonnet  and  cloak  on,  saying,  '  I  am  so  sorry,  but  you 
must  help  me  to  get  it.  Mother  has  gone  to  bed. 
Will  you  wrap  yourself  up,  and  come  this  way,  and 
please  bring  that  cup  with  you  ? ' 

Stockdale,  a  lonely  young  fellow,  who  had  for  weeks 
felt  a  great  craving  for  somebody  on  whom  to  throw 
away  superfluous  interest,  and  even  tenderness,  was 
not  sorry  to  join  her ;  and  followed  his  guide  through 
the  back  door,  across  the  garden,  to  the  bottom,  where 
the  boundary  was  a  wall.  This  wall  was  low,  and 
beyond  it  Stockdale  discerned  in  the  night  shades 
several  grey  headstones,  and  the  outlines  of  the  church 
roof  and  tower. 

1  It  is  easy  to  get  up  this  way,'  she  said,  stepping 
upon  a  bank  which  abutted  on  the  wall  ;  then  putting 
her  foot  on  the  top  of  the  stonework,  and  descending 
by  a  spring  inside,  where  the  ground  was  much  higher, 
as  is  the  manner  of  graveyards  to  be.  Stockdale  did 
the  same,  and  followed  her  in  the  dusk  across  the 
irregular  ground  till  they  came  to  the  tower  door, 
which,  when  they  had  entered,  she  softly  closed  behind 
them. 

'  You  can  keep  a  secret  ? '  she  said,  in  a  musical 
voice. 

'  Like  an  iron  chest ! '  said  he  fervently. 

222 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

Then  from  under  her  cloak  she  produced  a  small 
lighted  lantern,  which  the  minister  had  not  noticed 
that  she  carried  at  all.  The  light  showed  them  to  be 
close  to  the  singing-gallery  stairs,  under  which  lay  a 
heap  of  lumber  of  all  sorts,  but  consisting  mostly  of 
decayed  framework,  pews,  panels,  and  pieces  of  floor- 
ing, that  from  time  to  time  had  been  removed  from 
their  original  fixings  in  the  body  of  the  edifice  and 
replaced  by  new. 

'  Perhaps  you  will  drag  some  of  those  boards 
aside  ? '  she  said,  holding  the  lantern  over  her  head  to 
light  him  better.  '  Or  will  you  take  the  lantern  while 
I  move  them  ? ' 

'  I  can  manage  it,'  said  the  young  man,  and  acting 
as  she  ordered,  he  uncovered,  to  his  surprise,  a  row  of 
little  barrels  bound  with  wood  hoops,  each  barrel  being 
about  as  large  as  the  nave  of  a  heavy  waggon-wheel. 
When  they  were  laid  open  Lizzy  fixed  her  eyes  on 
him,  as  if  she  wondered  what  he  would  say. 

'  You  know  what  they  are  ? '  she  asked,  finding  that 
he  did  not  speak. 

'  Yes,  barrels,'  said  Stockdale  simply.  He  was  an 
inland  man,  the  son  of  highly  respectable  parents,  and 
brought  up  with  a  single  eye  to  the  ministry ;  and  the 
sight  suggested  nothing  beyond  the  fact  that  such 
articles  were  there. 

'  You  are  quite  right,  they  are  barrels,'  she  said,  in 
an  emphatic  tone  of  candour  that  was  not  without  a 
touch  of  irony. 

Stockdale  looked  at  her  with  an  eye  of  sudden 
misgiving.  '  Not  smugglers'  liquor  ? '  he  said. 

'  Yes,'  said  she.  '  They  are  tubs  of  spirit  that  have 
accidentally  floated  over  in  the  dark  from  France.' 

In  N ether- Moynton  and  its  vicinity  at  this  date 
people  always  smiled  at  the  sort  of  sin  called  in  the 
outside  world  illicit  trading ;  and  these  little  kegs  of 
gin  and  brandy  were  as  well  known  to  the  inhabitants 
as  turnips.  So  that  Stockdale's  innocent  ignorance, 
and  his  look  of  alarm  when  he  guessed  the  sinister 

223 


WESSEX  TALES 

mystery,  seemed  to  strike  Lizzy  first  as  ludicrous,  and 
then  as  very  awkward  for  the  good  impression  that  she 
wished  to  produce  upon  him. 

'  Smuggling  is  carried  on  here  by  some  of  the 
people,'  she  said  in  a  gentle,  apologetic  voice.  '  It 
has  been  their  practice  for  generations,  and  they  think 
it  no  harm.  Now,  will  you  roll  out  one  of  the  tubs  ?  ' 

'  What  to  do  with  it  ? '  said  the  minister. 

'  To  draw  a  little  from  it  to  cure  your  cold,'  she 
answered.  '  It  is  so  'nation  strong  that  it  drives  away 
that  sort  of  thing  in  a  jiffy.  O,  it  is  all  right  about 
our  taking  it.  I  may  have  what  I  like  ;  the  owner  of 
the  tubs  says  so.  I  ought  to  have  had  some  in  the 
house,  and  then  I  shouldn't  ha'  been  put  to  this 
trouble ;  but  I  drink  none  myself,  and  so  I  often 
forget  to  keep  it  indoors.' 

1  You  are  allowed  to  help  yourself,  I  suppose,  that 
you  may  not  inform  where  their  hiding-place  is  ? ' 

1  Well,  no ;  not  that  particularly ;  but  I  may  take 
any  if  I  want  it.  So  help  yourself.' 

'  I  will,  to  oblige  you,  since  you  have  a  right  to  it, 
murmured  the  minister ;  and  though  he  was  not  quite 
satisfied  with  his  part  in  the  performance,  he  rolled  one 
of  the  '  tubs '  out  from  the  corner  into  the  middle  of 
the  tower  floor.  '  How  do  you  wish  me  to  get  it  out 
— with  a  gimlet,  I  suppose  ?  ' 

'  No,  I'll  show  you,'  said  his  interesting  companion  ; 
and  she  held  up  with  her  other  hand  a  shoemaker's 
awl  and  a  hammer.  '  You  must  never  do  these  things 
with  a  gimlet,  because  the  wood-dust  gets  in ;  and 
when  the  buyers  pour  out  the  brandy  that  would  tell 
them  that  the  tub  had  been  broached.  An  awl  makes 
no  dust,  and  the  hole  nearly  closes  up  again.  Now 
tap  one  of  the  hoops  forward.' 

Stockdale  took  the  hammer  and  did  so. 

'  Now  make  the  hole  in  the  part  that  was  covered 
by  the  hoop.1 

He  made  the  hole  as  directed.  '  It  won't  run  out,1 
he  said. 

224 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

*O  yes  it  will,'  said  she.  'Take  the  tub  between 
your  knees,  and  squeeze  the  heads ;  and  I'll  hold  the 
cup.' 

Stockdale  obeyed ;  and  the  pressure  taking  effect 
upon  the  tub,  which  seemed  to  be  thin,  the  spirit 
spirted  out  in  a  stream.  When  the  cup  was  full  he 
ceased  pressing,  and  the  flow  immediately  stopped. 
'  Now  we  must  fill  up  the  keg  with  water,'  said  Lizzy, 
'  or  it  will  cluck  like  forty  hens  when  it  is  handled,  and 
show  that  'tis  not  full.' 

'  But  they  tell  you  you  may  take  it  ? ' 

1  Yes,  the  srmigglers  ;  but  the  buyers  must  not  know 
that  the  smugglers  have  been  kind  to  me  at  their 
expense.' 

'  I  see,'  said  Stockdale  doubtfully.  '  I  much  ques- 
tion the  honesty  of  this  proceeding.' 

By  her  direction  he  held  the  tub  with  the  hole 
upwards,  and  while  he  went  through  the  process  of 
alternately  pressing  and  ceasing  to  press,  she  produced 
a  bottle  of  water,  from  which  she  took  mouthfuls,  con- 
veying each  to  the  keg  by  putting  her  pretty  lips  to 
the  hole,  where  it  was  sucked  in  at  each  recovery  of 
the  cask  from  pressure.  When  it  was  again  full  he 
plugged  the  hole,  knocked  the  hoop  down  to  its  place, 
and  buried  the  tub  in  the  lumber  as  before. 

1  Aren't  the  smugglers  afraid  that  you  will  tell  ? ' 
he  asked,  as  they  recrossed  the  churchyard. 

'  O  no ;  they  are  not  afraid  of  that.  I  couldn't  do 
such  a  thing.' 

'  They  have  put  you  into  a  very  awkward  corner, 
said  Stockdale  emphatically.     '  You  must,  of  course,  as 
an  honest  person,  sometimes  feel  that  it  is  your  duty 
to  inform — really  you  must.' 

'  Well,  I  have  never  particularly  felt  it  as  a  duty ; 

and,   besides,   my   first   husband '      She  stopped, 

and  there  was  some  confusion  in  her  voice.  Stock- 
dale  was  so  honest  and  unsophisticated  that  he  did  not 
at  once  discern  why  she  paused :  but  at  last  he  did 
perceive  that  the  words  were  a  slip,  and  that  no 

225 


WESSEX  TALES 

woman  would  have  uttered  '  first  husband '  by  accident 
unless  she  had  thought  pretty  frequently  of  a  second. 
He  felt  for  her  confusion,  and  allowed  her  time  to 
recover  and  proceed.  '  My  husband/  she  said,  in  a 
self-corrected  tone,  '  used  to  know  of  their  doings,  and 
so  did  my  father,  and  kept  the  secret.  I  cannot 
inform,  in  fact,  against  anybody.' 

'  I  see  the  hardness  of  it,'  he  continued,  like  a  man 
who  looked  far  into  the  moral  of  things.  '  And  it  is 
very  cruel  that  you  should  be  tossed  and  tantalized 
between  your  memories  and  your  conscience.  I  do 
hope,  Mrs.  Newberry,  that  you  will  soon  see  your  way 
out  of  this  unpleasant  position.' 

'Well,  I  don't  just  now/  she  murmured. 

By  this  time  they  had  passed  over  the  wall  and 
entered  the  house,  where  she  brought  him  a  glass  and 
hot  water,  and  left  him  to  his  own  reflections.  He 
looked  after  her  vanishing  form,  asking  himself  whether 
he,  as  a  respectable  man,  and  a  minister,  and  a  shining 
light,  even  though  as  yet  only  of  the  halfpenny-candle 
sort,  were  quite  justified  in  doing  this  thing.  A  sneeze 
settled  the  question  ;  and  he  found  that  when  the  fiery 
liquor  was  lowered  by  the  addition  of  twice  or  thrice 
the  quantity  of  water,  it  was  one  of  the  prettiest  cures 
for  a  cold  in  the  head  that  he  had  ever  known, 
particularly  at  this  chilly  time  of  the  year. 

Stockdale  sat  in  the  deep  chair  about  twenty 
minutes  sipping  and  meditating,  till  he  at  length  took 
warmer  views  of  things,  and  longed  for  the  morrow, 
when  he  would  see  Mrs.  Newberry  again.  He  then 
felt  that,  though  chronologically  at  a  short  distance, 
it  would  in  an  emotional  sense  be  very  long  before 
to-morrow  came,  and  walked  restlessly  round  the 
room.  His  eye  was  attracted  by  a  framed  and  glazed 
sampler  in  which  a  running  ornament  of  fir-trees 
and  peacocks  surrounded  the  following  pretty  bit  of 
sentiment : — 


226 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

'Rose-leaves  smell  when  roses  thrive, 
Here's  my  work  while  I'm  alive ; 
Rose-leaves  smell  when  shrunk  and  shed, 
Here's  my  work  when  I  am  dead. 

1  Lizzy  Simpkins.     Fear  God.     Honour  the  King. 
'Aged  ii  years.' 

''Tis  hers/  he  said  to  himself.  '  Heavens,  how  I 
like  that  name ! ' 

Before  he  had  done  thinking  that  no  other  name 
from  Abigail  to  Zenobia  would  have  suited  his  young 
landlady  so  well,  tap-tap  came  again  upon  the  door ; 
and  the  minister  started  as  her  face  appeared  yet 
another  time,  looking  so  disinterested  that  the  most 
ingenious  would  have  refrained  from  asserting  that  she 
had  come  to  affect  his  feelings  by  her  seductive  eyes. 

'  Would  you  like  a  fire  in  your  room,  Mr.  Stock- 
dale,  on  account  of  your  cold  ?  ' 

The  minister,  being  still  a  little  pricked  in  the  con- 
science for  countenancing  her  in  watering  the  spirits, 
saw  here  a  way  to  self-chastisement.  'No,  I  thank 
you,'  he  said  firmly ;  '  it  is  not  necessary.  I  have 
never  been  used  to  one  in  my  life,  and  it  would  be 
giving  way  to  luxury  too  far.' 

'Then  I  won't  insist,'  she  said,  and  disconcerted 
him  by  vanishing  instantly. 

Wondering  if  she  was  vexed  by  his  refusal,  he 
wished  that  he  had  chosen  to  have  a  fire,  even  though 
it  should  have  scorched  him  out  of  bed  and  endangered 
his  self -discipline  for  a  dozen  days.  However,  he 
consoled  himself  with  what  was  in  truth  a  rare  con- 
solation for  a  budding  lover,  that  he  was  under  the 
same  roof  with  Lizzy ;  her  guest,  in  fact,  to  take  a 
poetical  view  of  the  term  lodger ;  and  that  he  would 
certainly  see  her  on  the  morrow. 

The  morrow  came,  and  Stockdale  rose  early,  his 
cold  quite  gone.  He  had  never  in  his  life  so  longed 
for  the  breakfast  hour  as  he  did  that  day,  and 
punctually  at  eight  o'clock,  after  a  short  walk  to 
reconnoitre  the  premises,  he  re-entered  the  door  of 

227 


WESSEX  TALES 

his  dwelling.  Breakfast  passed,  and  Martha  Sarah 
attended,  but  nobody  came  voluntarily  as  on  the  night 
before  to  inquire  if  there  were  other  wants  which  he 
had  not  mentioned,  and  which  she  would  attempt  to 
gratify.  He  was  disappointed,  and  went  out,  hoping 
to  see  her  at  dinner.  Dinner  time  came ;  he  sat  down 
to  the  meal,  finished  it,  lingered  on  for  a  whole  hour, 
although  two  new  teachers  were  at  that  moment 
waiting  at  the  chapel-door  to  speak  to  him  by  appoint- 
ment. It  was  useless  to  wait  longer,  and  he  slowly 
went  his  way  down  the  lane,  cheered  by  the  thought 
that,  after  all,  he  would  see  her  in  the  evening,  and 
perhaps  engage  again  in  the  delightful  tub-broaching 
in  the  neighbouring  church  tower,  which  proceeding 
he  resolved  to  render  more  moral  by  steadfastly  insist- 
ing that  no  water  should  be  introduced  to  fill  up, 
though  the  tub  should  cluck  like  all  the  hens  in 
Christendom.  But  nothing  could  disguise  the  fact 
that  it  was  a  queer  business  ;  and  his  countenance  fell 
when  he  thought  how  much  more  his  mind  was 
interested  in  that  matter  than  in  his  serious  duties. 

However,  compunction  vanished  with  the  decline 
of  day.  Night  came,  and  his  tea  and  supper  ;  but  no 
Lizzy  Newberry,  and  no  sweet  temptations.  At  last 
the  minister  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  said  to  his 
quaint  little  attendant,  'Where  is  Mrs.  Newberry  to- 
day ? '  judiciously  handing  a  penny  as  he  spoke. 

'  She's  busy/  said  Martha. 

'Anything  serious  happened?'  he  asked,  handing 
another  penny,  and  revealing  yet  additional  pennies  in 
the  background. 

'  O  no — nothing  at  all ! '  said  she,  with  breathless 
confidence.  'Nothing  ever  happens  to  her.  She's 
only  biding  upstairs  in  bed  because  'tis  her  way  some- 
times.' 

Being  a  young  man  of  some  honour  he  would  not 
question  further,  and  assuming  that  Lizzy  must  have  a 
bad  headache,  or  other  slight  ailment,  in  spite  of  what 
the  girl  had  said,  he  went  to  bed  dissatisfied,  not  even 

228 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

setting  eyes  on  old  Mrs.  Simpkins.  '  I  said  last  night 
that  I  should  see  her  to-morrow,'  he  reflected;  'but 
that  was  not  to  be ! ' 

Next  day  he  had  better  fortune,  or  worse,  meeting 
her  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  in  the  morning,  and  being 
favoured  by  a  visit  or  two  from  her  during  the  day — 
once  for  the  purpose  of  making  kindly  inquiries  about 
his  comfort,  as  on  the  first  evening,  and  at  another 
time  to  place  a  bunch  of  winter-violets  on  his  table, 
with  a  promise  to  renew  them  when  they  drooped. 
On  these  occasions  there  was  something  in  her  smile 
which  showed  how  conscious  she  was  of  the  effect  she 
produced,  though  it  must  be  said  that  it  was  rather 
a  humorous  than  a  designing  consciousness,  and 
savoured  more  of  pride  than  of  vanity. 

As  for  Stockdale,  he  clearly  perceived  that  he 
possessed  unlimited  capacity  for  backsliding,  and 
wished  that  tutelary  saints  were  not  denied  to  Dis- 
senters. He  set  a  watch  upon  his  tongue  and  eyes 
for  the  space  of  one  hour  and  a  half,  after  which  he 
found  it  was  useless  to  struggle  further,  and  gave 
himself  up  to  the  situation.  '  The  other  minister  will 
be  here  in  a  month,'  he  said  to  himself  when  sitting 
over  the  fire.  '  Then  I  shall  be  off,  and  she  will 
distract  my  mind  no  more !  .  .  .  And  then,  shall  I  go 
on  living  by  myself  for  ever  ?  No  ;  when  my  two 
years  of  probation  are  finished,  I  shall  have  a  furnished 
house  to  live  in,  with  a  varnished  door  and  a  brass 
knocker;  and  I'll  march  straight  back  to  her,  and  ask 
her  flat,  as  soon  as  the  last  plate  is  on  the  dresser ! ' 

Thus  a  titillating  fortnight  was  passed  by  young 
Stockdale,  during  which  time  things  proceeded  much 
as  such  matters  have  done  ever  since  the  beginning  of 
history.  He  saw  the  object  of  attachment  several  times 
one  day,  did  not  see  her  at  all  the  next,  met  her  when 
he  least  expected  to  do  so,  missed  her  when  hints  and 
signs  as  to  where  she  should  be  at  a  given  hour  almost 
amounted  to  an  appointment.  This  mild  coquetry  was 
perhaps  fair  enough  under  the  circumstances  of  their 

229 


WESSEX  TALES 

being  so  closely  lodged,  and  Stockdale  put  up  with  it  as 
philosophically  as  he  was  able.  Being  in  her  own  house 
she  could,  after  vexing  him  or  disappointing  him  of 
her  presence,  easily  win  him  back  by  suddenly  surround- 
ing him  with  those  little  attentions  which  her  position 
as  his  landlady  put  it  in  her  power  to  bestow.  When 
he  had  waited  indoors  half  the  day  to  see  her,  and  on 
finding  that  she  would  not  be  seen,  had  gone  off  in  a 
huff  to  the  dreariest  and  dampest  walk  he  could 
discover,  she  would  restore  equilibrium  in  the  evening 
with  '  Mr.  Stockdale,  I  have  fancied  you  must  feel 
draught  o'  nights  from  your  bedroom  window,  and  so 
I  have  been  putting  up  thicker  curtains  this  afternoon 
while  you  were  out ' ;  or,  '  I  noticed  that  you  sneezed 
twice  again  this  morning,  Mr.  Stockdale.  Depend 
upon  it  that  cold  is  hanging  about  you  yet ;  I  am  sure 
it  is — I  have  thought  of  it  continually ;  and  you  must 
let  me  make  a  posset  for  you.' 

Sometimes  in  coming  home  he  found  his  sitting- 
room  rearranged,  chairs  placed  where  the  table  had 
stood,  and  the  table  ornamented  with  the  few  fresh 
flowers  and  leaves  that  could  be  obtained  at  this 
season,  so  as  to  add  a  novelty  to  the  room.  At  times 
she  would  be  standing  on  a  chair  outside  the  house, 
trying  to  nail  up  a  branch  of  the  monthly  rose  which 
the  winter  wind  had  blown  down  ;  and  of  course  he 
stepped  forward  to  assist  her,  when  their  hands  got 
mixed  in  passing  the  shreds  and  nails.  Thus  they 
became  friends  again  after  a  disagreement.  She  would 
utter  on  these  occasions  some  pretty  and  deprecatory 
remark  on  the  necessity  of  her  troubling  him  anew ; 
and  he  would  straightway  say  that  he  would  do  a 
hundred  times  as  much  for  her  if  she  should  so  require. 


HOW  HE  SAW  TWO  OTHER  MEN 

II 

MATTERS  being  in  this  advancing  state,  Stockdale 
was  rather  surprised  one  cloudy  evening,  while  sitting 
in  his  room,  at  hearing  her  speak  in  low  tones  of  ex- 
postulation to  some  one  at  the  door.  It  was  nearly 
dark,  but  the  shutters  were  not  yet  closed,  nor  the 
candles  lighted  ;  and  Stockdale  was  tempted  to  stretch 
his  head  towards  the  window.  He  saw  outside  the 
door  a  young  man  in  clothes  of  a  whitish  colour,  and 
upon  reflection  judged  their  wearer  to  be  the  well- 
built  and  rather  handsome  miller  who  lived  below. 
The  miller's  voice  was  alternately  low  and  firm,  and 
sometimes  it  reached  the  level  of  positive  entreaty ; 
but  what  the  words  were  Stockdale  could  in  no 
way  hear. 

Before  the  colloquy  had  ended,  the  minister's  atten- 
tion was  attracted  by  a  second  incident.  Opposite 
Lizzy's  home  grew  a  clump  of  laurels,  forming  a  thick 
and  permanent  shade.  One  of  the  laurel  boughs  now 
quivered  against  the  light  background  of  sky,  and  in  a 
moment  the  head  of  a  man  peered  out,  and  remained 
still.  He  seemed  to  be  also  much  interested  in  the 
conversation  at  the  door,  and  was  plainly  lingering 
there  to  watch  and  listen.  Had  Stockdale  stood  in 
any  other  relation  to  Lizzy  than  that  of  a  lover,  he 
might  have  gone  out  and  investigated  the  meaning  of 
this  :  but  being  as  yet  but  an  unprivileged  ally,  he  did 
nothing  more  than  stand  up  and  show  himself  against 

231 


WESSEX  TALES 

the  firelight,  whereupon  the  listener  disappeared,  and 
Lizzy  and  the  miller  spoke  in  lower  tcnes. 

Stockdale  was  made  so  uneasy  by  the  circumstance, 
that  as  soon  as  the  miller  was  gone,  he  said,  'Mrs. 
Newberry,  are  you  aware  that  you  were  watched  just 
now,  and  your  conversation  heard  ?  ' 

'  When  ?  '  she  said. 

'  When  you  were  talking  to  that  miller.  A  man 
was  looking  from  the  laurel-tree  as  jealously  as  if  he 
could  have  eaten  you.' 

She  showed  more  concern  than  the  trifling  event 
seemed  to  demand,  and  he  added,  '  Perhaps  you 
were  talking  of  things  you  did  not  wish  to  be  over- 
heard?' 

'  I  was  talking  only  on  business,*  she  said. 

'  Lizzy,  be  frank ! '  said  the  young  man.  '  If  it  was 
only  on  business,  why  should  anybody  wish  to  listen 
to  you  ? ' 

She  looked  curiously  at  him.  '  What  else  do  you 
think  it  could  be,  then  ? ' 

'  Well — the  only  talk  between  a  young  woman  and 
man  that  is  likely  to  amuse  an  eavesdropper.' 

'Ah  yes,'  she  said,  smiling  in  spite  of  her  pre- 
occupation. 'Well,  my  cousin  Owlett  has  spoken  to 
me  about  matrimony,  every  now  and  then,  that's  true ; 
but  he  was  not  speaking  of  it  then.  I  wish  he  had 
been  speaking  of  it,  with  all  my  heart.  It  would  have 
been  much  less  serious  for  me.' 

'  O  Mrs.  Newberry ! ' 

'  It  would.  Not  that  I  should  ha'  chimed  in  with 
him,  of  course.  I  wish  it  for  other  reasons.  I  am 
glad,  Mr.  Stockdale,  that  you  have  told  me  of  that 
listener.  It  is  a  timely  warning,  and  I  must  see  my 
cousin  again.' 

'  But  don't  go  away  till  I  have  spoken,'  said  the 
minister.  '  I'll  out  with  it  at  once,  and  make  no  more 
ado.  Let  it  be  Yes  or  No  between  us,  Lizzy  ;  please 
do ! '  And  he  held  out  his  hand,  in  which  she  freely 
allowed  her  own  to  rest,  but  without  speaking. 

232 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

'  You  mean  Yes  by  that  ? '  he  asked,  after  waiting  a 
while. 

4  You  may  be  my  sweetheart,  if  you  will.' 

1  Why  not  say  at  once  you  will  wait  for  me  until  I 
have  a  house  and  can  come  back  to  marry  you.' 

'  Because  I  am  thinking — thinking  of  something 
else,  she  said  with  embarrassment.  'It  all  comes 
upon  me  at  once,  and  I  must  settle  one  thing  at  a 
time.' 

'  At  any  rate,  dear  Lizzy,  you  can  assure  me  that 
the  miller  shall  not  be  allowed  to  speak  to  you  except 
on  business  ?  You  have  never  directly  encouraged 
him?' 

She  parried  the  question  by  saying,  '  You  see,  he 
and  his  party  have  been  in  the  habit  of  leaving  things 
on  my  premises  sometimes,  and  as  I  have  not  denied 
him,  it  makes  him  rather  forward.' 

'  Things — what  things  ? ' 

'Tubs — they  are  called  Things  here.' 

'  But  why  don't  you  deny  him,  my  dear  Lizzy  ? ' 

'  I  cannot  well.' 

'  You  are  too  timid.  It  is  unfair  of  him  to  impose 
so  upon  you,  and  get  your  good  name  into  danger  by 
his  smuggling  tricks.  Promise  me  that  the  next  time 
he  wants  to  leave  his  tubs  here  you  will  let  me  roll 
them  into  the  street  ? ' 

She  shook  her  head.  '  I  would  not  venture  to 
offend  the  neighbours  so  much  as  that,'  said  she,  'or 
do  anything  that  would  be  so  likely  to  put  poor  Owlett 
into  the  hands  of  the  Customs-men.' 

Stockdale  sighed,  and  said  that  he  thought  hers  a 
mistaken  generosity  when  it  extended  to  assisting 
those  who  cheated  the  king  of  his  dues.  '  At  any 
rate,  you  will  let  me  make  him  keep  his  distance  as 
your  lover,  and  tell  him  flatly  that  you  are  not  for 
him?' 

'  Please  not,  at  present,'  she  said.  '  I  don't  wish  to 
offend  my  old  neighbours.  It  is  not  only  Mr.  Owlett 
who  is  concerned.' 

233 


WESSEX  TALES 

'This  is  too  bad,'  said  Stockdale  impatiently. 

'  On  my  honour,  I  won't  encourage  him  as  my 
lover,'  Lizzy  answered  earnestly.  '  A  reasonable  man 
will  be  satisfied  with  that.' 

'Well,  so  I  am,'  said  Stockdale,  his  countenance 
clearing. 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  GREATCOAT 

III 

STOCKDALE  now  began  to  notice  more  particularly 
a  feature  in  the  life  of  his  fair  landlady,  which  he  had 
casually  observed  but  scarcely  ever  thought  of  before. 
It  was  that  she  was  markedly  irregular  in  her  hours 
of  rising.  For  a  week  or  two  she  would  be  tolerably 
punctual,  reaching  the  ground-floor  within  a  few  minutes 
of  half-past  seven.  Then  suddenly  she  would  not  be 
visible  till  twelve  at  noon,  perhaps  for  three  or  four 
days  in  succession ;  and  twice  he  had  certain  proof 
that  she  did  not  leave  her  room  till  half-past  three  in 
the  afternoon.  The  second  time  that  this  extreme 
lateness  came  under  his  notice  was  on  a  day  when  he 
had  particularly  wished  to  consult  with  her  about  his 
future  movements  ;  and  he  concluded,  as  he  always  had 
done,  that  she  had  a  cold,  headache,  or  other  ailment, 
unless  she  had  kept  herself  invisible  to  avoid  meeting 
and  talking  to  him,  which  he  could  hardly  believe. 
The  former  supposition  was  disproved,  however,  by 
her  innocently  saying,  some  days  later,  when  they  were 
speaking  on  a  question  of  health,  that  she  had  never 
had  a  moment's  heaviness,  headache,  or  illness  of  any 
kind  since  the  previous  January  twelvemonth. 

'  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,'  said  he.  '  I  thought  quite 
otherwise.' 

'What,  do  I  look  sickly?'  she  asked,  turning  up 
her  face  to  show  the  impossibility  of  his  gazing  on  it 
and  holding  such  a  belief  for  a  moment. 

235 


WESSEX  TALES 

'  Not  at  all ;  I  merely  thought  so  from  your  being 
sometimes  obliged  to  keep  your  room  through  the  best 
part  of  the  day.' 

*O,  as  for  that — it  means  nothing,'  she  murmured, 
with  a  look  which  some  might  have  called  cold,  and 
which  was  the  worst  look  that  he  liked  to  see  upon  her. 
'  It  is  pure  sleepiness,  Mr.  Stockdale.' 

'Never!' 

'  It  is,  I  tell  you.  When  I  stay  in  my  room  till 
half-past  three  in  the  afternoon,  you  may  always  be 
sure  that  I  slept  soundly  till  three,  or  I  shouldn't  have 
stayed  there.' 

'It  is  dreadful,'  said  Stockdale,  thinking  of  the 
disastrous  effects  of  such  indulgence  upon  the  house- 
hold of  a  minister,  should  it  become  a  habit  of  every- 
day occurrence. 

'  But  then,'  she  said,  divining  his  good  and  prescient 
thoughts,  '  it  only  happens  when  I  stay  awake  all 
night.  I  don't  go  to  sleep  till  five  or  six  in  the 
morning  sometimes.' 

'  Ah,  that's  another  matter,'  said  Stockdale.  '  Sleep- 
lessness to  such  an  alarming  extent  is  real  illness. 
Have  you  spoken  to  a  doctor  ? ' 

'  O  no — there  is  no  need  for  doing  that — it  is  all 
natural  to  me.'  And  she  went  away  without  further 
remark. 

Stockdale  might  have  waited  a  long  time  to  know 
the  real  cause  of  her  sleeplessness,  had  it  not  happened 
that  one  dark  night  he  was  sitting  in  his  bedroom 
jotting  down  notes  for  a  sermon,  which  occupied  him 
perfunctorily  for  a  considerable  time  after  the  other 
members  of  the  household  had  retired.  He  did  not 
get  to  bed  till  one  o'clock.  Before  he  had  fallen  asleep 
he  heard  a  knocking  at  the  front  door,  first  rather 
timidly  performed,  and  then  louder.  Nobody  answered 
it,  and  the  person  knocked  again.  As  the  house  still 
remained  undisturbed,  Stockdale  got  out  of  bed,  went 
to  his  window,  which  overlooked  the  door,  and  opening 
it,  asked  who  was  there. 

236 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

A  young  woman's  voice  replied  that  Susan  Wallis 
was  there,  and  that  she  had  come  to  ask  if  Mrs. 
Newberry  could  give  her  some  mustard  to  make  a 
plaster  with,  as  her  father  was  taken  very  ill  on  the 
chest. 

The  minister,  having  neither  bell  nor  servant,  was 
compelled  to  act  in  person.  '  I  will  call  Mrs.  New- 
berry,'  he  said.  Partly  dressing  himself,  he  went 
along  the  passage  and  tapped  at  Lizzy's  door.  She 
did  not  answer,  and,  thinking  of  her  erratic  habits  in 
the  matter  of  sleep,  he  thumped  the  door  persistently, 
when  he  discovered,  by  its  moving  ajar  under  his 
knocking,  that  it  had  only  been  gently  pushed  to. 
As  there  was  now  a  sufficient  entry  for  the  voice, 
he  knocked  no  longer,  but  said  in  firm  tones,  '  Mrs. 
Newberry,  you  are  wanted.' 

The  room  was  quite  silent ;  not  a  breathing,  not  a 
rustle,  came  from  any  part  of  it.  Stockdale  now  sent 
a  positive  shout  through  the  open  space  of  the  door : 
'  Mrs.  Newberry ! ' — still  no  answer,  or  movement  of 
any  kind  within.  Then  he  heard  sounds  from  the 
opposite  room,  that  of  Lizzy's  mother,  as  if  she  had 
been  aroused  by  his  uproar  though  Lizzy  had  not,  and 
was  dressing  herself  hastily.  Stockdale  softly  closed 
the  younger  woman's  door  and  went  on  to  the  other, 
which  was  opened  by  Mrs.  Simpkins  before  he  could 
reach  it.  She  was  in  her  ordinary  clothes,  and  had  a 
light  in  her  hand. 

'  What's  the  person  calling  about  ? '  she  said  in 
alarm. 

Stockdale  told  the  girl's  errand,  adding  seriously, 
'  I  cannot  wake  Mrs.  Newberry.' 

'  It  is  no  matter,'  said  her  mother.  '  I  can  let  the 
girl  have  what  she  wants  as  well  as  my  daughter.' 
And  she  came  out  of  the  room  and  went  downstairs. 

Stockdale  retired  towards  his  own  apartment,  say- 
ing, however,  to  Mrs.  Simpkins  from  the  landing,  as  if 
on  second  thoughts,  '  I  suppose  there  is  nothing  the 
matter  with  Mrs.  Newberry,  that  I  could  not  wake  her?' 

237 


WESSEX  TALES 

'  O  no,'  said  the  old  lady  hastily.     '  Nothing  at  all.' 

Still  the  minister  was  not  satisfied.  '  Will  you  go 
in  and  see  ? '  he  said.  '  I  should  be  much  more  at 
ease.' 

Mrs.  Simpkins  returned  up  the  staircase,  went  to 
her  daughter's  room,  and  came  out  again  almost 
instantly.  'There  is  nothing  at  all  the  matter  with 
Lizzy,'  she  said  ;  and  descended  again  to  attend  to 
the  applicant,  who,  having  seen  the  light,  had  remained 
quiet  during  this  interval. 

Stockdale  went  into  his  room  and  lay  down  as 
before.  He  heard  Lizzy's  mother  open  the  front  door, 
admit  the  girl,  and  then  the  murmured  discourse  of 
both  as  they  went  to  the  store-cupboard  for  the  medica- 
ment required.  The  girl  departed,  the  door  was 
fastened,  Mrs.  Simpkins  came  upstairs,  and  the  house 
was  again  in  silence.  Still  the  minister  did  not  fall 
asleep.  He  could  not  get  rid  of  a  singular  suspicion, 
which  was  all  the  more  harassing  in  being,  if  true, 
the  most  unaccountable  thing  within  his  experience. 
That  Lizzy  Newberry  was  in  her  bedroom  when  he 
made  such  a  clamour  at  the  door  he  could  not  possibly 
convince  himself,  notwithstanding  that  he  had  heard 
her  come  upstairs  at  the  usual  time,  go  into  her 
chamber,  and  shut  herself  up  in  the  usual  way.  Yet 
all  reason  was  so  much  against  her  being  elsewhere, 
that  he  was  constrained  to  go  back  again  to  the 
unlikely  theory  of  a  heavy  sleep,  though  he  had  heard 
neither  breath  nor  movement  during  a  shouting  and 
knocking  loud  enough  to  rouse  the  Seven  Sleepers. 

Before  coming  to  any  positive  conclusion  he  fell 
asleep  himself,  and  did  not  awake  till  day.  He  saw 
nothing  of  Mrs.  Newberry  in  the  morning,  before  he 
went  out  to  meet  the  rising  sun,  as  he  liked  to  do 
when  the  weather  was  fine  ;  but  as  this  was  by  no 
means  unusual,  he  took  no  notice  of  it.  At  breakfast- 
time  he  knew  that  she  was  not  far  off  by  hearing  her 
in  the  kitchen,  and  though  he  saw  nothing  of  her 
person,  that  back  apartment  being  rigorously  closed 

238 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

against  his  eyes,  she  seemed  to  be  talking,  ordering, 
and  bustling  about  among  the  pots  and  skimmers  in  so 
ordinary  a  manner,  that  there  was  no  reason  for  his 
wasting  more  time  in  fruitless  surmise. 

The  minister  suffered  from  these  distractions,  and 
his  extemporized  sermons  were  not  improved  thereby. 
Already  he  often  said  Romans  for  Corinthians  in  the 
pulpit,  and  gave  out  hymns  in  strange  cramped  metres, 
that  hitherto  had  always  been  skipped,  because  the 
congregation  could  not  raise  a  tune  to  fit  them.  He 
fully  resolved  that  as  soon  as  his  few  weeks  of  stay 
approached  their  end  he  would  cut  the  matter  short, 
and  commit  himself  by  proposing  a  definite  engage- 
ment, repenting  at  leisure  if  necessary. 

With  this  end  in  view,  he  suggested  to  her  on  the 
evening  after  her  mysterious  sleep  that  they  should 
take  a  walk  together  just  before  dark,  the  latter  part 
of  the  proposition  being  introduced  that  they  might 
return  home  unseen.  She  consented  to  go  ;  and  away 
they  went  over  a  stile,  to  a  shrouded  footpath  suited 
for  the  occasion.  But,  in  spite  of  attempts  on  both 
sides,  they  were  unable  to  infuse  much  spirit  into  the 
ramble.  She  looked  rather  paler  than  usual,  and 
sometimes  turned  her  head  away. 

'  Lizzy,'  said  Stockdale  reproachfully,  when  they 
had  walked  in  silence  a  long  distance. 

'Yes,'  said  she. 

'  You  yawned — much  my  company  is  to  you ! ' 
He  put  it  in  that  way,  but  he  was  really  wondering 
whether  her  yawn  could  possibly  have  more  to  do 
with  physical  weariness  from  the  night  before  than 
mental  weariness  of  that  present  moment.  Lizzy 
apologized,  and  owned  that  she  was  rather  tired, 
which  gave  him  an  opening  for  a  direct  question  on 
the  point ;  but  his  modesty  would  not  allow  him  to 
put  it  to  her ;  and  he  uncomfortably  resolved  to  wait. 

The  month  of  February  passed  wilh  alternations 
of  mud  and  frost,  rain  and  sleet,  east  winds  and  north- 
westerly gales.  The  hollow  places  in  the  ploughed 

239 


WESSEX  TALES 

fields  showed  themselves  as  pools  of  water,  which  had 
settled  there  from  the  higher  levels,  and  had  not  yet 
found  time  to  soak  away.  The  birds  began  to  get 
lively,  and  a  single  thrush  came  just  before  sunset 
each  evening,  and  sang  hopefully  on  the  large  elm- 
tree  which  stood  nearest  to  Mrs.  Newberry's  house. 
Cold  blasts  and  brittle  earth  had  given  place  to  an 
oozing  dampness  more  unpleasant  in  itself  than  frost ; 
but  it  suggested  coming  spring,  and  its  unpleasantness 
was  of  a  bearable  kind. 

Stockdale  had  been  going  to  bring  about  a  practical 
understanding  with  Lizzy  at  least  half  a  dozen  times  ; 
but,  what  with  the  mystery  of  her  apparent  absence 
on  the  night  of  the  neighbour's  call,  and  her  curious 
way  of  lying  in  bed  at  unaccountable  times,  he  felt  a 
check  within  him  whenever  he  wanted  to  speak  out. 
Thus  they  still  lived  on  as  indefinitely  affianced  lovers, 
each  of  whom  hardly  acknowledged  the  other's  claim 
to  the  name  of  chosen  one.  Stockdale  persuaded  him- 
self that  his  hesitation  was  owing  to  the  postponement 
of  the  ordained  minister's  arrival,  and  the  consequent 
delay  in  his  own  departure,  which  did  away  with  all 
necessity  for  haste  in  his  courtship ;  but  perhaps  it 
was  only  that  his  discretion  was  reasserting  itself,  and 
telling  him  that  he  had  better  get  clearer  ideas  of 
Lizzy  before  arranging  for  the  grand  contract  of  his 
life  with  her.  She,  on  her  part,  always  seemed  ready 
to  be  urged  further  on  that  question  than  he  had 
hitherto  attempted  to  go ;  but  she  was  none  the  less 
independent,  and  to  a  degree  which  would  have  kept 
from  flagging  the  passion  of  a  far  more  mutable  man. 

On  the  evening  of  the  first  of  March  he  went 
casually  into  his  bedroom  about  dusk,  and  noticed 
lying  on  a  chair  a  greatcoat,  hat,  and  breeches. 
Having  no  recollection  of  leaving  any  clothes  of  his 
own  in  that  spot,  he  went  and  examined  them  as  well 
as  he  could  in  the  twilight,  and  found  that  they  did 
not  belong  to  him.  He  paused  for  a  moment  to 
consider  how  they  might  have  got  there.  He  was 

240 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

the  only  man  living  in  the  house ;  and  yet  these  were 
not  his  garments,  unless  he  had  made  a  mistake.  No, 
they  were  not  his.  He  called  up  Martha  Sarah. 

'  How  did  these  things  come  in  my  room  ? '  he  said, 
flinging  the  objectionable  articles  to  the  floor. 

Martha  said  that  Mrs.  Newberry  had  given  them 
to  her  to  brush,  and  that  she  had  brought  them  up 
there  thinking  they  must  be  Mr.  Stockdale's,  as  there 
was  no  other  gentleman  a-lodging  there. 

'  Of  course  you  did,'  said  Stockdale.  '  Now  take 
them  down  to  your  mis'ess,  and  say  they  are  some 
clothes  I  have  found  here  and  know  nothing  about.1 

As  the  door  was  left  open  he  heard  the  conversa- 
tion downstairs.  '  How  stupid ! '  said  Mrs.  Newberry, 
in  a  tone  of  confusion.  'Why,  Marther  Sarer,  I  did 
not  tell  you  to  take  'em  to  Mr.  Stockdale's  room  ? ' 

'  I  thought  they  must  be  his  as  they  was  so  muddy,' 
said  Martha  humbly. 

'  You  should  have  left  'em  on  the  clothes-horse,' 
said  the  young  mistress  severely  ;  and  she  came  up- 
stairs with  the  garments  on  her  arm,  quickly  passed 
Stockdale's  room,  and  threw  them  forcibly  into  a  closet 
at  the  end  of  a  passage.  With  this  the  incident  ended, 
and  the  house  was  silent  again. 

There  would  have  been  nothing  remarkable  in 
finding  such  clothes  in  a  widow's  house  had  they  been 
clean  ;  or  moth-eaten,  or  creased,  or  mouldy  from  long 
lying  by  ;  but  that  they  should  be  splashed  with  recent 
mud  bothered  Stockdale  a  good  deal.  When  a  young 
pastor  is  in  the  aspen  stage  of  attachment,  and  open 
to  agitation  at  the  merest  trifles,  a  really  substantial 
incongruity  of  this  complexion  is  a  disturbing  thing. 
However,  nothing  further  occurred  at  that  time  ;  but 
he  became  watchful,  and  given  to  conjecture,  and  was 
unable  to  forget  the  circumstance. 

One  morning,  on  looking  from  his  window,  he  saw 
Mrs.  Newberry  herself  brushing  the  tails  of  a  long 
drab  greatcoat,  which,  if  he  mistook  not,  was  the  very 
same  garment  as  the  one  that  had  adorned  the  chair 

241 


WESSEX  TALES 

of  his  room.  It  was  densely  splashed  up  to  the  hollow 
of  the  back  with  neighbouring  N ether- Moynton  mud, 
to  judge  by  its  colour,  the  spots  being  distinctly  visible 
to  him  in  the  sunlight.  The  previous  day  or  two 
having  been  wet,  the  inference  was  irresistible  that 
the  wearer  had  quite  recently  been  walking  some 
considerable  distance  about  the  lanes  and  fields. 
Stockdale  opened  the  window  and  looked  out,  and 
Mrs.  Newberry  turned  her  head.  Her  face  became 
slowly  red ;  she  never  had  looked  prettier,  or  more 
incomprehensible.  He  waved  his  hand  affectionately, 
and  said  good-morning  ;  she  answered  with  embarrass- 
ment, having  ceased  her  occupation  on  the  instant  that 
she  saw  him,  and  rolled  up  the  coat  half-cleaned. 

Stockdale  shut  the  window.  Some  simple  explana- 
tion of  her  proceeding  was  doubtless  within  the  bounds 
of  possibility  ;  but  he  himself  could  not  think  of  one  ; 
and  he  wished  that  she  had  placed  the  matter  beyond 
conjecture  by  voluntarily  saying  something  about  it 
there  and  then. 

But,  though  Lizzy  had  not  offered  an  explanation 
at  the  moment,  the  subject  was  brought  forward  by 
her  at  the  next  time  of  their  meeting.  She  was 
chatting  to  him  concerning  some  other  event,  and 
remarked  that  it  happened  about  the  time  when  she 
was  dusting  some  old  clothes  that  had  belonged  to  her 
poor  husband. 

'You  keep  them  clean  out  of  respect  to  his 
memory  ? '  said  Stockdale  tentatively. 

'  I  air  and  dust  them  sometimes,'  she  said,  with  the 
most  charming  innocence  in  the  world. 

'  Do  dead  men  come  out  of  their  graves  and  walk 
in  mud  ? '  murmured  the  minister,  in  a  cold  sweat  at 
the  deception  that  she  was  practising. 

'  What  did  you  say  ? '  asked  Lizzy. 

'  Nothing,  nothing,'  said  he  mournfully.  *  Mere 
words — a  phrase  that  will  do  for  my  sermon  next 
Sunday.'  It  was  too  plain  that  Lizzy  was  unaware 
that  he  had  seen  fresh  pedestrian  splashes  upon  the 

242 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

skirts  of  the  tell-tale  overcoat,  and  that  she  imagined 
him  to  believe  it  had  come  direct  from  some  chest  or 
drawer. 

The  aspect  of  the  case  was  now  considerably 
darker.  Stockdale  was  so  much  depressed  by  it  that 
he  did  not  challenge  her  explanation,  or  threaten  to 
go  off  as  a  missionary  to  benighted  islanders,  or 
reproach  her  in  any  way  whatever.  He  simply  parted 
from  her  when  she  had  done  talking,  and  lived  on  in 
perplexity,  till  by  degrees  his  natural  manner  became 
sad  and  constrained. 


AT  THE  TIME  OF  THE  NEW  MOON 

IV 

THE  following  Thursday  was  changeable,  damp,  and 
gloomy ;  and  the  night  threatened  to  be  windy  and 
unpleasant.  Stockdale  had  gone  away  to  Knollsea  in 
the  morning,  to  be  present  at  some  commemoration 
service  there,  and  on  his  return  he  was  met  by  the 
attractive  Lizzy  in  the  passage.  Whether  influenced 
by  the  tide  of  cheerfulness  which  had  attended  him 
that  day,  or  by  the  drive  through  the  open  air,  or 
whether  from  a  natural  disposition  to  let  bygones 
alone,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  fascinated  into  forget- 
fulness  of  the  greatcoat  incident,  and  upon  the  whole 
passed  a  pleasant  evening ;  not  so  much  in  her  society 
as  within  sound  of  her  voice,  as  she  sat  talking  in  the 
back  parlour  to  her  mother,  till  the  latter  went  to  bed. 
Shortly  after  this  Mrs.  Newberry  retired,  and  then 
Stockdale  prepared  to  go  upstairs  himself.  But  before 
he  left  the  room  he  remained  standing  by  the  dying 
embers  awhile,  thinking  long  of  one  thing  and 
another ;  and  was  only  aroused  by  the  flickering  of 
his  candle  in  the  socket  as  it  suddenly  declined  and 
went  out.  Knowing  that  there  were  a  tinder-box, 
matches,  and  another  candle  in  his  bedroom,  he  felt 
his  way  upstairs  without  a  light.  On  reaching  his 
chamber  he  laid  his  hand  on  every  possible  ledge  and 
corner  for  the  tinder-box,  but  for  a  long  time  in  vain. 
Discovering  it  at  length,  Stockdale  produced  a  spark, 
and  was  kindling  the  brimstone,  when  he  fancied  that 

244 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

he  heard  a  movement  in  the  passage.  He  blew 
harder  at  the  lint,  the  match  flared  up,  and  looking 
by  aid  of  the  blue  light  through  the  door,  which  had 
been  standing  open  all  this  time,  he  was  surprised  to 
see  a  male  figure  vanishing  round  the  top  of  the 
staircase  with  the  evident  intention  of  escaping  un- 
observed. The  personage  wore  the  clothes  which 
Lizzy  had  been  brushing,  and  something  in  the  out- 
line and  gait  suggested  to  the  minister  that  the  wearer 
was  Lizzy  herself 

But  he  was  not  sure  of  this ;  and,  greatly  excited, 
Stockdale  determined  to  investigate  the  mystery,  and 
to  adopt  his  own  way  for  doing  it.  He  blew  out  the 
match  without  lighting  the  candle,  went  into  the 
passage,  and  proceeded  on  tiptoe  towards  Lizzy's 
room.  A  faint  grey  square  of  light  in  the  direction 
of  the  chamber- window  as  he  approached  told  him  that 
the  door  was  open,  and  at  once  suggested  that  the 
occupant  was  gone.  He  turned  and  brought  down 
his  fist  upon  the  handrail  of  the  staircase :  'It  was 
she  ;  in  her  late  husband's  coat  and  hat ! ' 

Somewhat  relieved  to  find  that  there  was  no 
intruder  in  the  case,  yet  none  the  less  surprised,  the 
minister  crept  down  the  stairs,  softly  put  on  his  boots, 
overcoat,  and  hat,  and  tried  the  front  door.  It  was 
fastened  as  usual :  he  went  to  the  back  door,  found 
this  unlocked,  and  emerged  into  the  garden.  The 
night  was  mild  and  moonless,  and  rain  had  lately  been 
falling,  though  for  the  present  it  had  ceased.  There 
was  a  sudden  dropping  from  the  trees  and  bushes 
every  now  and  then,  as  each  passing  wind  shook 
their  boughs.  Among  these  sounds  Stockdale  heard 
the  faint  fall  of  feet  upon  the  road  outside,  and  he 
guessed  from  the  step  that  it  was  Lizzy's.  He  fol- 
lowed the  sound,  and,  helped  by  the  circumstance  of 
the  wind  blowing  from  the  direction  in  which  the 
pedestrian  moved,  he  got  nearly  close  to  her,  and 
kept  there,  without  risk  of  being  overheard.  While 
he  thus  followed  her  up  the  street  or  lane,  as  it  might 

245 


WESSEX  TALES 

indifferently  be  called,  there  being  more  hedge  than 
houses  on  either  side,  a  figure  came  forward  to  her 
from  one  of  the  cottage  doors.  Lizzy  stopped ;  the 
minister  stepped  upon  the  grass  and  stopped  also. 

'  Is  that  Mrs.  Newberry  ? '  said  the  man  who  had 
come  out,  whose  voice  Stockdale  recognized  as  that 
of  one  of  the  most  devout  members  of  his  con- 
gregation. 

'  It  is,'  said  Lizzy. 

'  I  be  quite  ready — I've  been  here  this  quarter- 
hour.' 

'  Ah,  John,'  said  she,  '  I  have  bad  news ;  there  is 
danger  to-night  for  our  venture.' 

'  And  d'ye  tell  o't !     I  dreamed  there  might  be.' 

'Yes,'  she  said  hurriedly;  'and  you  must  go  at 
once  round  to  where  the  chaps  are  waiting,  and  tell 
them  they  will  not  be  wanted  till  to-morrow  night  at 
the  same  time.  I  go  to  burn  the  lugger  off.' 

'  I  will,'  he  said  ;  and  instantly  went  off  through  a 
gate,  Lizzy  continuing  her  way. 

On  she  tripped  at  a  quickening  pace  till  the  lane 
turned  into  the  turnpike-road,  which  she  crossed,  and 
got  into  the  track  for  Ringsworth.  Here  she  ascended 
the  hill  without  the  least  hesitation,  passed  the  lonely 
hamlet  of  Hoi  worth,  and  went  down  the  vale  on  the 
other  side.  Stockdale  had  never  taken  any  extensive 
walks  in  this  direction,  but  he  was  aware  that  if  she 
persisted  in  her  course  much  longer  she  would  draw 
near  to  the  coast,  which  was  here  between  two  and 
three  miles  distant  from  Nether-Moynton ;  and  as  it 
had  been  about  a  quarter-past  eleven  o'clock  when 
they  set  out,  her  intention  seemed  to  be  to  reach  the 
shore  about  midnight. 

Lizzy  soon  ascended  a  small  mound,  which  Stock- 
dale  at  the  same  time  adroitly  skirted  on  the  left ;  and 
a  dull  monotonous  roar  burst  upon  his  ear.  The 
hillock  was  about  fifty  yards  from  the  top  of  the  cliffs, 
and  by  day  it  apparently  commanded  a  full  view  of 
the  bay.  There  was  light  enough  in  the  sky  to  show 

246 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

her  disguised  figure  against  it  when  she  reached  the 
top,  where  she  paused,  and  afterwards  sat  down. 
Stockdale,  not  wishing  on  any  account  to  alarm  her 
at  this  moment,  yet  desirous  of  being  near  her,  sank 
upon  his  hands  and  knees,  crept  a  little  higher  up,  and 
there  stayed  still. 

The  wind  was  chilly,  the  ground  damp,  and  his 
position  one  in  which  he  did  not  care  to  remain  long. 
However,  before  he  had  decided  to  leave  it,  the  young 
man  heard  voices  behind  him.  What  they  signified 
he  did  not  know ;  but,  fearing  that  Lizzy  was  in 
danger,  he  was  about  to  run  forward  and  warn  her 
that  she  might  be  seen,  when  she  crept  to  the  shelter 
of  a  little  bush  which  maintained  a  precarious  existence 
in  that  exposed  spot ;  and  her  form  was  absorbed  in 
its  dark  and  stunted  outline  as  if  she  had  become  part 
of  it.  She  had  evidently  heard  the  men  as  well  as 
he.  They  passed  near  him,  talking  in  loud  and 
careless  tones,  which  could  be  heard  above  the  un- 
interrupted washings  of  the  sea,  and  which  suggested 
that  they  were  not  engaged  in  any  business  at  their 
own  risk.  This  proved  to  be  the  fact :  some  of  their 
words  floated  across  to  him,  and  caused  him  to  forget 
at  once  the  coldness  of  his  situation. 

'  What's  the  vessel  ? ' 

'A  lugger,  about  fifty  tons.' 

'  From  Cherbourg,  I  suppose  ?  * 

'  Yes,  'a  b'lieve.' 

'  But  it  don't  all  belong  to  Owlett  ? ' 

'O  no.  He's  only  got  a  share.  There's  another 
or  two  in  it — a  farmer  and  such  like,  but  the  names  I 
don't  know.' 

The  voices  died  away,  and  the  heads  and  shoulders 
of  the  men  diminished  towards  the  cliff,  and  dropped 
out  of  sight. 

'  My  darling  has  been  tempted  to  buy  a  share  by 
that  unbeliever  Owlett,'  groaned  the  minister,  his 
honest  affection  for  Lizzy  having  quickened  to  its 
intensest  point  during  these  moments  of  risk  to  her 

247 


WESSEX  TALES 

person  and  name.     '  That's  why  she's  here/  he  said  to 
himself.     '  O,  it  will  be  the  ruin  of  her ! ' 

His  perturbation  was  interrupted  by  the  sudden 
bursting  out  of  a  bright  and  increasing  light  from  the 
spot  where  Lizzy  was  in  hiding.  A  few  seconds  later, 
and  before  it  had  reached  the  height  of  a  blaze,  he 
heard  her  rush  past  him  down  the  hollow  like  a  stone 
from  a  sling,  in  the  direction  of  home.  The  light  now 
flared  high  and  wide,  and  showed  its  position  clearly. 
She  had  kindled  a  bough  of  furze  and  stuck  it  into  the 
bush  under  which  she  had  been  crouching ;  the  wind 
fanned  the  flame,  which  crackled  fiercely,  and  threatened 
to  consume  the  bush  as  well  as  the  bough.  Stockdale 
paused  just  long  enough  to  notice  thus  much,  and  then 
followed  rapidly  the  route  taken  by  the  young  woman. 
His  intention  was  to  overtake  her,  and  reveal  himself 
as  a  friend ;  but  run  as  he  would  he  could  see  nothing 
of  her.  Thus  he  flew  across  the  open  country  about 
Hoi  worth,  twisting  his  legs  and  ankles  in  unexpected 
fissures  and  descents,  till,  on  coming  to  the  gate 
between  the  downs  and  the  road,  he  was  forced  to 
pause  to  get  breath.  There  was  no  audible  movement 
either  in  front  or  behind  him,  and  he  now  concluded 
that  she  had  not  outrun  him,  but  that,  hearing  him  at 
her  heels,  and  believing  him  one  of  the  excise  party, 
she  had  hidden  herself  somewhere  on  the  way,  and  let 
him  pass  by. 

He  went  on  at  a  more  leisurely  pace  towards  the 
village.  On  reaching  the  house  he  found  his  surmise 
to  be  correct,  for  the  gate  was  on  the  latch,  and  the 
door  unfastened,  just  as  he  had  left  them.  Stockdale 
closed  the  door  behind  him,  and  waited  silently  in  the 
passage.  In  about  ten  minutes  he  heard  the  same 
light  footstep  that  he  had  heard  in  going  out ;  it 
paused  at  the  gate,  which  opened  and  shut  softly,  and 
then  the  door-latch  was  lifted,  and  Lizzy  came  in. 

Stockdale  went  forward  and  said  at  once,  '  Lizzy, 
don't  be  frightened.  I  have  been  waiting  up  for 
you 

248 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

She  started,  though  she  had  recognized  the  voice. 
'  It  is  Mr.  Stockdale,  isn't  it  ? '  she  said. 

'Yes,'  he  answered,  becoming  angry  now  that  she 
was  safe  indoors,  and  not  alarmed.  '  And  a  nice  game 
I've  found  you  out  in  to-night.  You  are  in  man's 
clothes,  and  I  am  ashamed  of  you ! ' 

Lizzie  could  hardly  find  a  voice  to  answer  this 
unexpected  reproach. 

1 1  am  only  partly  in  man's  clothes,'  she  faltered, 
shrinking  back  to  the  wall.  '  It  is  only  his  greatcoat 
and  hat  and  breeches  that  I've  got  on,  which  is  no 
harm,  as  he  was  my  own  husband ;  and  I  do  it  only 
because  a  cloak  blows  about  so,  and  you  can't  use 
your  arms.  I  have  got  my  own  dress  under  just  the 
same — it  is  only  tucked  in  !  Will  you  go  away  upstairs 
and  let  me  pass  ?  I  didn't  want  you  to  see  me  at  such 
a  time  as  this ! ' 

'  But  I  have  a  right  to  see  you !  How  do  you 
think  there  can  be  anything  between  us  now  ? '  Lizzy 
was  silent.  '  You  are  a  smuggler,'  he  continued  sadly. 

'  I  have  only  a  share  in  the  run,'  she  said. 

'That  makes  no  difference.  Whatever  did  you 
engage  in  such  a  trade  as  that  for,  and  keep  it  such  a 
secret  from  me  all  this  time  ? ' 

'  I  don't  do  it  always.  I  only  do  it  in  winter-time 
when  'tis  new  moon.' 

'Well,  I  suppose  that's  because  it  can't  be  done 
anywhen  else.  .  .  .  You  have  regularly  upset  me, 
Lizzy.' 

'  I  am  sorry  for  that,'  Lizzy  meekly  replied. 

'Well  now,'  said  he  more  tenderly,  'no  harm  is 
done  as  yet.  Won't  you  for  the  sake  of  me  give  up 
this  blamable  and  dangerous  practice  altogether  ? ' 

'  I  must  do  my  best  to  save  this  run,'  said  she, 
getting  rather  husky  in  the  throat.  '  I  don't  want  to 
give  you  up — you  know  that ;  but  I  don't  want  to  lose 
my  venture.  I  don't  know  what  to  do  now !  Why  I 
have  kept  it  so  secret  from  you  is  that  I  was  afraid 
you  would  be  angry  if  you  knew.' 

349 


WESSEX  TALES 

1 1  should  think  so !  I  suppose  if  I  had  married 
you  without  finding  this  out  you'd  have  gone  on  with 
it  just  the  same  ? ' 

'  I  don't  know.  I  did  not  think  so  far  ahead.  I 
only  went  to-night  to  burn  the  folks  off,  because  we 
found  that  the  preventive-men  knew  where  the  tubs 
were  to  be  landed.' 

'It  is  a  pretty  mess  to  be  in  altogether,  is  this,' 
said  the  distracted  young  minister.  '  Well,  what  will 
you  do  now  ? ' 

Lizzy  slowly  murmured  the  particulars  of  their 
plan,  the  chief  of  which  were  that  they  meant  to  try 
their  luck  at  some  other  point  of  the  shore  the  next 
night ;  that  three  landing-places  were  always  agreed 
upon  before  the  run  was  attempted,  with  the  under- 
standing that,  if  the  vessel  was  '  burnt  off'  from  the 
first  point,  which  was  Ringsworth,  as  it  had  been  by 
her  to-night,  the  crew  should  attempt  to  make  the 
second,  which  was  Lulwind  Cove,  on  the  second 
night ;  and  if  there,  too,  danger  threatened,  they 
should  on  the  third  night  try  the  third  place,  which 
was  behind  a  headland  further  west. 

'  Suppose  the  officers  hinder  them  landing  there 
too  ? '  he  said,  his  attention  to  this  interesting  pro- 
gramme displacing  for  a  moment  his  concern  at  her 
share  in  it. 

'  Then  we  shan't  try  anywhere  else  all  this  dark — 
that's  what  we  call  the  time  between  moon  and  moon 
— and  perhaps  they'll  string  the  tubs  to  a  stray-line, 
and  sink  'em  a  little-ways  from  shore,  and  take  the 
bearings  ;  and  then  when  they  have  a  chance  they'll 
go  to  creep  for  'em.' 

'What's  that?' 

'  O,  they'll  go  out  in  a  boat  and  drag  a  creeper — 
that's  a  grapnel — along  the  bottom  till  it  catch  hold  of 
the  stray-line.' 

The  minister  stood  thinking ;  and  there  was  no 
sound  within  doors  but  the  tick  of  the  clock  on  the 
stairs,  and  the  quick  breathing  of  Lizzy,  partly  from 

2-0 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

her  walk  and  partly  from  agitation,  as  she  stood  close 
to  the  wall,  not  in  such  complete  darkness  but  that 
he  could  discern  against  its  whitewashed  surface  the 
greatcoat,  breeches,  and  broad  hat  which  covered  her. 

'  Lizzy,  all  this  is  very  wrong,'  he  said.  '  Don't 
you  remember  the  lesson  of  the  tribute  -  money  ? 
"  Render  unto  Caesar  the  things  that  are  Caesar's." 
Surely  you  have  heard  that  read  times  enough  in  your 
growing  up  ? ' 

'  He's  dead,'  she  pouted. 

'  But  the  spirit  of  the  text  is  in  force  just  the  same.' 

'  My  father  did  it,  and  so  did  my  grandfather,  and 
almost  everybody  in  N ether- Moynton  lives  by  it,  and 
life  would  be  so  dull  if  it  wasn't  for  that,  that  I  should 
not  care  to  live  at  all.' 

'  I  am  nothing  to  live  for,  of  course,'  he  replied 
bitterly.  '  You  would  not  think  it  worth  while  to  give 
up  this  wild  business  and  live  for  me  alone  ? ' 

'  I  have  never  looked  at  it  like  that.' 

'  And  you  won't  promise  and  wait  till  I  am  ready  ? ' 

'  I  cannot  give  you  my  word  to-night.'  And,  look- 
ing thoughtfully  down,  she  gradually  moved  and  moved 
away,  going  into  the  adjoining  room,  and  closing  the 
door  between  them.  She  remained  there  in  the  dark 
till  he  was  tired  of  waiting,  and  had  gone  up  to  his 
own  chamber. 

Poor  Stockdale  was  dreadfully  depressed  all  the 
next  day  by  the  discoveries  of  the  night  before.  Lizzy 
was  unmistakably  a  fascinating  young  woman,  but  as 
a  minister's  wife  she  was  hardly  to  be  contemplated. 
'  If  I  had  only  stuck  to  father's  little  grocery  business, 
instead  of  going  in  for  the  ministry,  she  would  have 
suited  me  beautifully ! '  he  said  sadly,  until  he  remem- 
bered that  in  that  case  he  would  never  have  come 
from  his  distant  home  to  Nether- Moynton,  and  never 
have  known  her. 

The  estrangement  between  them  was  not  complete, 
but  it  was  sufficient  to  keep  them  out  of  each  other's 
company.  Once  during  the  day  he  met  her  in  the 


WESSEX  TALES 

garden-path,  and  said,  turning  a  reproachful  eye  upon 
her,  '  Do  you  promise,  Lizzie  ? '  But  she  did  not 
reply.  The  evening  drew  on,  and  he  knew  well 
enough  that  Lizzy  would  repeat  her  excursion  at 
night — her  half  offended  manner  had  shown  that  she 
had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  altering  her  plans 
at  present.  He  did  not  wish  to  repeat  his  own  share 
of  the  adventure ;  but,  act  as  he  would,  his  uneasiness 
on  her  account  increased  with  the  decline  of  day. 
Supposing  that  an  accident  should  befall  her,  he 
would  never  forgive  himself  for  not  being  there  to 
help,  much  as  he  disliked  the  idea  of  seeming  to 
countenance  such  unlawful  escapades. 


As  he  had  expected,  she  left  the  house  at  the  same 
hour  at  night,  this  time  passing  his  door  without 
stealth,  as  if  she  knew  very  well  that  he  would  be 
watching,  and  were  resolved  to  brave  his  displeasure. 
He  was  quite  ready,  opened  the  door  quickly,  and 
reached  the  back  door  almost  as  soon  as  she. 

'  Then  you  will  go,  Lizzy  ? '  he  said  as  he  stood  on 
the  step  beside  her,  who  now  again  appeared  as  a 
little  man  with  a  face  altogether  unsuited  to  his 
clothes. 

'  I  must,'  she  said,  repressed  by  his  stern  manner. 

'Then  I  shall  go  too,'  said  he. 

'  And  I  am  sure  you  will  enjoy  it ! '  she  exclaimed 
in  more  buoyant  tones.  '  Everybody  does  who  tries  it.' 

'  God  forbid  that  I  should ! '  he  said.  '  But  I  must 
look  after  you.' 

They  opened  the  wicket  and  went  up  the  road 
abreast  of  each  other,  but  at  some  distance  apart, 
scarcely  a  word  passing  between  them.  The  evening 
was  rather  less  favourable  to  smuggling  enterprise 
than  the  last  had  been,  the  wind  being  lower,  and  the 
sky  somewhat  clear  towards  the  north. 

'  It  is  rather  lighter,'  said  Stockdale. 

'  'Tis,  unfortunately,'  said  she.  '  But  it  is  only  from 
those  few  stars  over  there.  The  moon  was  new  to- 

253 


WESSEX  TALES 

day  at  four  o'clock,  and  I  expected  clouds.  I  hope  we 
shall  be  able  to  do  it  this  dark,  for  when  we  have  to  sink 
'em  for  long  it  makes  the  stuff  taste  bleachy,  and  folks 
don't  like  it  so  well.' 

Her  course  was  different  from  that  of  the  preced- 
ing night,  branching  off  to  the  left  over  Lord's  Barrow 
as  soon  as  they  had  got  out  of  the  lane  and  crossed 
the  highway.  By  the  time  they  reached  Shaldon 
Down,  Stockdale,  who  had  been  in  perplexed  thought 
as  to  what  he  should  say  to  her,  decided  that  he  would 
not  attempt  expostulation  now,  while  she  was  excited 
by  the  adventure,  but  wait  till  it  was  over,  and 
endeavour  to  keep  her  from  such  practices  in  future. 
It  occurred  to  him  once  or  twice,  as  they  rambled  on 
that  should  they  be  surprised  by  the  Preventive-guard, 
his  situation  would  be  more  awkward  than  hers,  for  it 
would  be  difficult  to  prove  his  true  motive  in  coming 
to  the  spot ;  but  the  risk  was  a  slight  consideration 
beside  his  wish  to  be  with  her. 

They  now  arrived  at  a  ravine  which  lay  on  the 
outskirts  of  Shaldon,  a  village  two  miles  on  their  way 
towards  the  point  of  the  shore  they  sought.  Lizzy 
broke  the  silence  this  time  :  '  I  have  to  wait  here  to 
meet  the  carriers.  I  don't  know  if  they  have  come 
yet.  As  I  told  you,  we  go  to  Lulwind  Cove  to-night, 
and  it  is  two  miles  further  than  Ringsworth.' 

It  turned  out  that  the  men  had  already  come ;  for 
while  she  spoke  two  or  three  dozen  heads  broke  the 
line  of  the  slope,  and  a  company  of  them  at  once 
descended  from  the  bushes  where  they  had  been 
lying  in  wait.  These  carriers  were  men  whom  Lizzy 
and  other  proprietors  regularly  employed  to  bring  the 
tubs  from  the  boat  to  a  hiding-place  inland.  They 
were  all  young  fellows  of  N ether- Moynton,  Shaldon, 
and  the  neighbourhood,  quiet  and  inoffensive  persons, 
even  though  some  held  heavy  sticks,  who  simply 
engaged  to  carry  the  cargo  for  Lizzy  and  her  cousin 
Owlett,  as  they  would  have  engaged  in  any  other 
labour  for  which  they  were  fairly  well  paid. 

254 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

At  a  word  from  her  they  closed  in  together. 
'You  had  better  take  it  now,'  she  said  to  them  ;  and 
handed  to  each  a  packet.  It  contained  six  shillings, 
their  remuneration  for  the  night's  undertaking,  which 
was  paid  beforehand  without  reference  to  success  or 
failure  ;  but,  besides  this,  they  had  the  privilege  of 
selling  as  agents  when  the  run  was  successfully  made. 
As  soon  as  it  was  done,  she  said  to  them,  '  The  place 
is  the  old  one,  Dagger's  Grave,  near  Lulwind  Cove ' ; 
the  men  till  that  moment  not  having  been  told  whither 
they  were  bound,  for  obvious  reasons.  '  Mr.  Owlett 
will  meet  you  there,'  added  Lizzy.  '  I  shall  follow 
behind,  to  see  that  we  are  not  watched.' 

The  carriers  went  on,  and  Stockdale  and  Mrs. 
Newberry  followed  at  a  distance  of  a  stone's  throw. 
'  What  do  these  men  do  by  day  ? '  he  said. 

'  Twelve  or  fourteen  of  them  are  labouring  men. 
Some  are  brickmakers,  some  carpenters,  some  shoe- 
makers, some  thatchers.  They  are  all  known  to  me 
very  well.  Nine  of  'em  are  of  your  own  congrega- 
tion.' 

'  I  can't  help  that,'  said  Stockdale. 

'  O,  I  know  you  can't.  I  only  told  you.  The 
others  are  more  church-inclined,  because  they  supply 
the  pa'son  with  all  the  spirits  he  requires,  and  they 
don't  wish  to  show  unfriendliness  to  a  customer.' 

'  How  do  you  choose  'em  ? '  said  Stockdale. 

'We  choose  'em  for  their  closeness,  and  because 
they  are  strong  and  surefooted,  and  able  to  carry  a 
heavy  load  a  long  way  without  being  tired.' 

Stockdale  sighed  as  she  enumerated  each  particular, 
for  it  proved  how  far  involved  in  the  business  a 
woman  must  be  who  was  so  well  acquainted  with  its 
conditions  and  needs.  And  yet  he  felt  more  tenderly 
towards  her  at  this  moment  than  he  had  felt  all  the 
foregoing  day.  Perhaps  it  was  that  her  experienced 
manner  and  bold  indifference  stirred  his  admiration  in 
spite  of  himself. 

'  Take  my  arm,  Lizzy/  he  murmured. 

255 


WESSEX  TALES 

'  I  don't  want  it,'  she  said.  '  Besides,  we  may  never 
be  to  each  other  again  what  we  once  have  been.' 

'  That  depends  upon  you,'  said  he,  and  they  went 
on  again  as  before. 

The  hired  carriers  paced  along  over  Shaldon  Down 
with  as  little  hesitation  as  if  it  had  been  day,  avoiding 
the  cart-way,  and  leaving  the  village  of  East  Shaldon 
on  the  left,  so  as  to  reach  the  crest  of  the  hill  at  a 
lonely  trackless  place  not  far  from  the  ancient  earth- 
work called  Round  Pound.  A  quarter-hour  more  of 
brisk  walking  brought  them  within  sound  of  the 
sea,  to  the  place  called  Dagger's  Grave,  not  many 
hundred  yards  from  Lulwind  Cove.  Here  they 
paused,  and  Lizzy  and  Stockdale  came  up  with  them, 
when  they  went  on  together  to  the  verge  of  the  cliff. 
One  of  the  men  now  produced  an  iron  bar,  which  he 
drove  firmly  into  the  soil  a  yard  from  the  edge,  and 
attached  to  it  a  rope  that  he  had  uncoiled  from  his 
body.  They  all  began  to  descend,  partly  stepping, 
partly  sliding  down  the  incline,  as  the  rope  slipped 
through  their  hands. 

1  You  will  not  go  to  the  bottom,  Lizzy  ? '  said  Stock- 
dale  anxiously. 

'  No.  I  stay  here  to  watch,'  she  said.  '  Mr.  Owlett 
is  down  there.' 

The  men  remained  quite  silent  when  they  reached 
the  shore ;  and  the  next  thing  audible  to  the  two  at 
the  top  was  the  dip  of  heavy  oars,  and  the  dashing  of 
waves  against  a  boat's  bow.  In  a  moment  the  keel 
gently  touched  the  shingle,  and  Stockdale  heard  the 
footsteps  of  the  thirty-six  carriers  running  forwards  over 
the  pebbles  towards  the  point  of  landing. 

There  was  a  sousing  in  the  water  as  of  a  brood  of 
ducks  plunging  in,  showing  that  the  men  had  not  been 
particular  about  keeping  their  legs,  or  even  their  waists, 
dry  from  the  brine :  but  it  was  impossible  to  see  what 
they  were  doing,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  shingle  was 
trampled  again.  The  iron  bar  sustaining  the  rope,  on 
which  Stockdale's  hand  rested,  began  to  swerve  a  little, 

256 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

and  the  carriers  one  by  one  appeared  climbing  up  the 
sloping  cliff,  dripping  audibly  as  they  came,  and  sus- 
taining themselves  by  the  guide-rope.  Each  man  on 
reaching  the  top  was  seen  to  be  carrying  a  pair  of  tubs, 
one  on  his  back  and  one  on  his  chest,  the  two  being 
slung  together  by  cords  passing  round  the  chine  hoops, 
and  resting  on  the  carrier's  shoulders.  Some  of  the 
stronger  men  carried  three  by  putting  an  extra  one  on 
the  top  behind,  but  the  customary  load  was  a  pair, 
these  being  quite  weighty  enough  to  give  their  bearer 
the  sensation  of  having  chest  and  backbone  in  contact 
after  a  walk  of  four  or  five  miles. 

'  Where  is  Mr.  Owlett  ? '  said  Lizzy  to  one  of  them. 

'  He  will  not  come  up  this  way,'  said  the  carrier. 
1  He's  to  bide  on  shore  till  we  be  safe  off.'  Then, 
without  waiting  for  the  rest,  the  foremost  men  plunged 
across  the  down  ;  and,  when  the  last  had  ascended, 
Lizzy  pulled  up  the  rope,  wound  it  round  her  arm, 
wriggled  the  bar  from  the  sod,  and  turned  to  follow 
the  carriers. 

'You  are  very  anxious  about  Owlett's  safety,'  said 
the  minister. 

'  Was  there  ever  such  a  man !  said  Lizzy.  '  Why, 
isn't  he  my  cousin  ? ' 

'Yes.  Well,  it  is  a  bad  night's  work,'  said  Stock- 
dale  heavily.  '  But  I'll  carry  the  bar  and  rope  for 
you.' 

'Thank  God,  the  tubs  have  got  so  far  all  right,' 
said  she. 

Stockdale  shook  his  head,  and,  taking  the  bar, 
walked  by  her  side  towards  the  downs  ;  and  the  moan 
of  the  sea  was  heard  no  more. 

'Is  this  what  you  meant  the  other  day  when  yoi- 
spoke  of  having  business  with  Owlett  ? '  the  young  man 
asked. 

'  This  is  it,'  she  replied.  '  I  never  see  him  on  any 
other  matter.' 

'A  partnership  of  that  kind  with  a  young  man  is 
very  odd.' 

257 


WESSEX  TALES 

'  It  was  begun  by  my  father  and  his,  who  were 
brother-laws.' 

Her  companion  could  not  blind  himself  to  the  fact 
that  where  tastes  and  pursuits  were  so  akin  as  Lizzy's 
and  Owlett's,  and  where  risks  were  shared,  as  with 
them,  in  every  undertaking,  there  would  be  a  peculiar 
appropriateness  in  her  answering  Owlett's  standing 
question  on  matrimony  in  the  affirmative.  This  did 
not  soothe  Stockdale,  its  tendency  being  rather  to 
stimulate  in  him  an  effort  to  make  the  pair  as  inappro- 
priate as  possible,  and  win  her  away  from  this  nocturnal 
crew  to  correctness  of  conduct  and  a  minister's  parlour 
in  some  far-removed  inland  county. 

They  had  been  walking  near  enough  to  the  file  of 
carriers  for  Stockdale  to  perceive  that,  when  they  got 
into  the  road  to  the  village,  they  split  up  into  two 
companies  of  unequal  size,  each  of  which  made  off  in 
a  direction  of  its  own.  One  company,  the  smaller  of 
the  two,  went  towards  the  church,  and  by  the  time  that 
Lizzy  and  Stockdale  reached  their  own  house  these 
men  had  scaled  the  churchyard  wall,  and  were  pro- 
ceeding noiselessly  over  the  grass  within. 

'  I  see  that  Mr.  Owlett  has  arranged  for  one  batch 
to  be  put  in  the  church  again,'  observed  Lizzy.  '  Do 
you  remember  my  taking  you  there  the  first  night  you 
came  ? ' 

'  Yes,  of  course,'  said  Stockdale.  '  No  wonder  you 
had  permission  to  broach  the  tubs — they  were  his,  I 
suppose  ? ' 

1  No,  they  were  not — they  were  mine ;  I  had  per- 
mission from  myself.  The  day  after  that  they  went 
several  miles  inland  in  a  waggon-load  of  manure,  and 
sold  very  well.' 

At  this  moment  the  group  of  men  who  had  made 
off  to  the  left  some  time  before  began  leaping  one  by 
one  from  the  hedge  opposite  Lizzy's  house,  and  the 
first  man,  who  had  no  tubs  upon  his  shoulders,  came 
forward. 

'  Mrs.  Newberry,  isn't  it  ? '  he  said  hastily. 

258 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

4  Yes,  Jim,'  said  she.     '  What's  the  matter  ? ' 

1 1  find  that  we  can't  put  any  in  Badger's  Clump 
to-night,  Lizzy,'  said  Owlett.  'The  place  is  watched. 
We  must  sling  the  apple-tree  in  the  orchet  if  there's 
time.  We  can't  put  any  more  under  the  church  lumber 
than  I  have  sent  on  there,  and  my  mixen  hev  already 
more  in  en  than  is  safe.' 

'Very  well,'  she  said.  'Be  quick  about  it — that's 
all.  What  can  I  do  ? ' 

'  Nothing  at  all,  please.  Ah,  it  is  the  minister ! — 
you  two  that  can't  do  anything  had  better  get  indoors 
and  not  be  zeed.' 

While  Owlett  thus  conversed,  in  a  tone  so  full  of 
contraband  anxiety  and  so  free  from  lover's  jealousy, 
the  men  who  followed  him  had  been  descending  one 
by  one  from  the  hedge  ;  and  it  unfortunately  happened 
that  when  the  hindmost  took  his  leap,  the  cord  slipped 
which  sustained  his  tubs  :  the  result  was  that  both  the 
kegs  fell  into  the  road,  one  of  them  being  stove  in  by 
the  blow. 

'  'Od  drown  it  all ! '  said  Owlett,  rushing  back. 

'  It  is  worth  a  good  deal,  I  suppose  ? '  said  Stock- 
dale. 

'O  no — about  two  guineas  and  half  to  us  now,' 
said  Lizzy  excitedly.  '  It  isn't  that — it  is  the  smell ! 
It  is  so  blazing  strong  before  it  has  been  lowered  by 
water,  that  it  smells  dreadfully  when  spilt  in  the  road 
like  that !  I  do  hope  Latimer  won't  pass  by  till  it  is 
gone  off.' 

Owlett  and  one  or  two  others  picked  up  the  burst 
tub  and  began  to  scrape  and  trample  over  the  spot, 
to  disperse  the  liquor  as  much  as  possible  ;  and  then 
they  all  entered  the  gate  of  Owlett's  orchard,  which 
adjoined  Lizzy's  garden  on  the  right.  Stockdale  did 
not  care  to  follow  them,  for  several  on  recognizing  him 
had  looked  wonderingly  at  his  presence,  though  they 
said  nothing.  "Lizzy  left  his  side  and  went  to  the 
bottom  of  the  garden,  looking  over  the  hedge  into  the 
orchard,  where  the  men  could  be  dimly  seen  bustling 

259 


WESSEX  TALES 

about,  and  apparently  hiding  the  tubs.  All  was  done 
noiselessly,  and  without  a  light ;  and  when  it  was  over 
they  dispersed  in  different  directions,  those  who  had 
taken  their  cargoes  to  the  church  having  already  gone 
off  to  their  homes. 

Lizzy  returned  to  the  garden-gate,  over  which 
Stockdale  was  still  abstractedly  leaning.  '  It  is  all 
finished  :  I  am  going  indoors  now,'  she  said  gently. 
'  I  will  leave  the  door  ajar  for  you.' 

1 0  no — you  needn't,'  said  Stockdale  ;  '  I  am  coming 
too.' 

But  before  either  of  them  had  moved,  the  faint 
clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  broke  upon  the  ear,  and  it 
seemed  to  come  from  the  point  where  the  track  across 
the  down  joined  the  hard  road. 

'  They  are  just  too  late  ! '  cried  Lizzy  exultingly. 

1  Who  ?  '  said  Stockdale. 

1  Latimer,  the  riding-officer,  and  some  assistant  of 
his.  We  had  better  go  indoors.' 

They  entered  the  house,  and  Lizzy  bolted  the  door. 
'  Please  don't  get  a  light,  Mr.  Stockdale,'  she  said. 

'Of  course  I  will  not,'  said  he. 

'  I  thought  you  might  be  on  the  side  of  the  king,' 
said  Lizzy,  with  faintest  sarcasm. 

'  I  am,'  said  Stockdale.  '  But,  Lizzy  Newberry,  I 
love  you,  and  you  know  it  perfectly  well ;  and  you 
ought  to  know,  if  you  do  not,  what  I  have  suffered 
in  my  conscience  on  your  account  these  last  few  days ! ' 

'  I  guess  very  well,1  she  said  hurriedly.  '  Yet  I 
don't  see  why.  Ah,  you  are  better  than  I  ! ' 

The  trotting  of  the  horses  seemed  to  have  again 
died  away,  and  the  pair  of  listeners  touched  each 
other's  fingers  in  the  cold  '  Good-night '  of  those  whom 
something  seriously  divided.  They  were  on  the  land- 
ing, but  before  they  had  taken  three  steps  apart,  the 
tramp  of  the  horsemen  suddenly  revived,  almost  close 
to  the  house.  Lizzy  turned  to  the  staircase  window, 
opened  the  casement  about  an  inch,  and  put  her  face 
close  to  the  aperture.  '  Yes,  one  of  'em  is  Latimer/ 

260 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

she  whispered.  '  He  always  rides  a  white  horse. 
One  would  think  it  was  the  last  colour  for  a  man  in 
that  line.' 

Stockdale  looked,  and  saw  the  white  shape  of  the 
animal  as  it  passed  by ;  but  before  the  riders  had  gone 
another  ten  yards  Latimer  reined  in  his  horse,  and  said 
something  to  his  companion  which  neither  Stockdale 
nor  Lizzy  could  hear.  Its  drift  was,  however,  soon 
made  evident,  for  the  other  man  stopped  also ;  and 
sharply  turning  the  horses'  heads  they  cautiously  re- 
traced their  steps.  When  they  were  again  opposite 
Mrs.  Newberry's  garden,  Latimer  dismounted,  and  the 
man  on  the  dark  horse  did  the  same. 

Lizzy  and  Stockdale,  intently  listening  and  observ- 
ing the  proceedings,  naturally  put  their  heads  as  close 
as  possible  to  the  slit  formed  by  the  slightly  opened 
casement ;  and  thus  it  occurred  that  at  last  their 
cheeks  came  positively  into  contact.  They  went  on 
listening,  as  if  they  did  not  know  of  the  singular  incident 
which  had  happened  to  their  faces,  and  the  pressure  of 
each  to  each  rather  increased  than  lessened  with  the 
lapse  of  time. 

They  could  hear  the  Customs-men  sniffing  the  air 
like  hounds  as  they  paced  slowly  along.  When  they 
reached  the  spot  where  the  tub  had  burst,  both  stopped 
on  the  instant. 

'  Ay,  ay,  'tis  quite  strong  here,'  said  the  second 
officer.  '  Shall  we  knock  at  the  door  ?  ' 

'Well,  no,'  said  Latimer.  'Maybe  this  is  only  a 
trick  to  put  us  off  the  scent.  They  wouldn't  kick  up 
this  stink  anywhere  near  their  hiding-place.  I  have 
known  such  things  before.' 

'  Anyhow,  the  things,  or  some  of  'em,  must  have 
been  brought  this  way,'  said  the  other. 

'  Yes,'  said  Latimer  musingly.  '  Unless  'tis  all  done 
to  tole  us  the  wrong  way.  I  have  a  mind  that  we  go 
home  for  to-night  without  saying  a  word,  and  come  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning  with  more  hands.  I  know 
they  have  storages  about  here,  but  we  can  do  nothing 

261 


WESSEX  TALES 

by  this  owl's  light.  We  will  look  round  the  parish 
and  see  if  everybody  is  in  bed,  John ;  and  if  all  is 
quiet,  we  will  do  as  I  say.' 

They  went  on,  and  the  two  inside  the  window 
could  hear  them  passing  leisurely  through  the  whole 
village,  the  street  of  which  curved  round  at  the  bottom 
and  entered  the  turnpike  road  at  another  junction. 
This  way  the  officers  followed,  and  the  amble  of  their 
horses  died  quite  away. 

'  What  will  you  do  ? '  said  Stockdale,  withdrawing 
from  his  position. 

She  knew  that  he  alluded  to  the  coming  search  by 
the  officers,  to  divert  her  attention  from  their  own 
tender  incident  by  the  casement,  which  he  wished  to 
be  passed  over  as  a  thing  rather  dreamt  of  than  done. 
'O,  nothing,'  she  replied,  with  as  much  coolness  as 
she  could  command  under  her  disappointment  at  his 
manner.  '  We  often  have  such  storms  as  this.  You 
would  not  be  frightened  if  you  knew  what  fools  they 
are.  Fancy  riding  o'  horseback  through  the  place; 
of  course  they  will  hear  and  see  nobody  while  they 
make  that  noise  ;  but  they  are  always  afraid  to  get  off, 
in  case  some  of  our  fellows  should  burst  out  upon  'em, 
and  tie  them  up  to  the  gate-post,  as  they  have  done 
before  now.  Good-night,  Mr.  Stockdale.' 

She  closed  the  window  and  went  to  her  room, 
where  a  tear  fell  from  her  eyes  ;  and  that  not  because 
of  the  alertness  of  the  riding-officers. 


THE  GREAT  SEARCH  AT 

NETHER-MO  YNTOfl 

VI 

STOCKDALE  was  so  excited  by  the  events  of  the 
evening,  and  the  dilemma  that  he  was  placed  in  between 
conscience  and  love,  that  he  did  not  sleep,  or  even 
doze,  but  remained  as  broadly  awake  as  at  noonday. 
As  soon  as  the  grey  light  began  to  touch  ever  so  faintly 
the  whiter  objects  in  his  bedroom  he  arose,  dressed 
himself,  and  went  downstairs  into  the  road. 

The  village  was  already  astir.  Several  of  the 
carriers  had  heard  the  well-known  canter  of  Latimer's 
horse  while  they  were  undressing  in  the  dark  that 
night,  and  had  already  communicated  with  each  other 
and  Owlett  on  the  subject.  The  only  doubt  seemed 
to  be  about  the  safety  of  those  tubs  which  had  been 
left  under  the  church  gallery-stairs,  and  after  a  short 
discussion  at  the  corner  of  the  mill,  it  was  agreed 
that  these  should  be  removed  before  it  got  lighter, 
and  hidden  in  the  middle  of  a  double  hedge  border- 
ing the  adjoining  field.  However,  before  anything 
could  be  carried  into  effect,  the  footsteps  of  many  men 
were  heard  coming  down  the  lane  from  the  highway. 

'  Damn  it,  here  they  be,'  said  Owlett,  who,  having 
already  drawn  the  hatch  and  started  his  mill  for  the 
day,  stood  stolidly  at  the  mill-door  covered  with  flour, 
as  if  the  interest  of  his  whole  soul  was  bound  up  in 
the  shaking  walls  around  him. 

263 


WESSEX  TALES 

The  two  or  three  with  whom  he  had  been  talking 
dispersed  to  their  usual  work,  and  when  the  Customs- 
officers,  and  the  formidable  body  of  men  they  had 
hired,  reached  the  village  cross,  between  the  mill  and 
Mrs.  Newberry's  house,  the  village  wore  the  natural 
aspect  of  a  place  beginning  its  morning  labours. 

'  Now,'  said  Latimer  to  his  associates,  who  numbered 
thirteen  men  in  all,  '  what  I  know  is  that  the  things  are 
somewhere  in  this  here  place.  We  have  got  the  day 
before  us,  and  'tis  hard  if  we  can't  light  upon  'em  and 
get  'em  to  Budmouth  Custom-house  before  night.  First 
we  will  try  the  fuel-houses,  and  then  we'll  work  our  way 
into  the  chimmers,  and  then  to  the  ricks  and  stables, 
and  so  creep  round.  You  have  nothing  but  your  noses 
to  guide  ye,  mind,  so  use  'em  to-day  if  you  never  did 
in  your  lives  before.' 

Then  the  search  began.  Owlett,  during  the  early 
part,  watched  from  his  mill-window,  Lizzy  from  the 
door  of  her  house,  with  the  greatest  self-possession.  A 
farmer  down  below,  who  also  had  a  share  in  the  run, 
rode  about  with  one  eye  on  his  fields  and  the  other  on 
Latimer  and  his  myrmidons,  prepared  to  put  them  off 
the  scent  if  he  should  be  asked  a  question.  Stockdale, 
who  was  no  smuggler  at  all,  felt  more  anxiety  than  the 
worst  of  them,  and  went  about  his  studies  with  a  heavy 
heart,  coming  frequently  to  the  door  to  ask  Lizzy  some 
question  or  other  on  the  consequences  to  her  of  the 
tubs  being  found. 

'The  consequences,'  she  said  quietly,  'are  simply 
that  I  shall  lose  'em.  As  I  have  none  in  the  house  or 
garden,  they  can't  touch  me  personally.' 

'  But  you  have  some  in  the  orchard  ? ' 

'  Mr.  Owlett  rents  that  of  me,  and  he  lends  it  to 
others.  So  it  will  be  hard  to  say  who  put  any  tubs 
there  if  they  should  be  found.' 

There  was  never  such  a  tremendous  sniffing  known 
as  that  which  took  place  in  N ether- Moynton  parish  and 
its  vicinity  this  day.  All  was  done  methodically,  and 
mostly  on  hands  and  knees.  At  different  hours  of  the 

264 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

day  they  had  different  plans.  From  daybreak  to  break- 
fast-time the  officers  used  their  sense  of  smell  in  a  direct 
and  straightforward  manner  only,  pausing  nowhere  but 
at  such  places  as  the  tubs  might  be  supposed  to  be  se- 
creted in  at  that  very  moment,  pending  their  removal 
on  the  following  night.  Among  the  places  tested  and 
examined  were : — 

Hollow  trees  Cupboards  Culverts 

Potato-graves  Clock-cases  Hedgerows 

Fuel-houses  Chimney-flues  Faggot-ricks 

Bedrooms  Rainwater-butts  Haystacks 

Apple-lofts  Pigsties  Coppers  and  ovens. 

After  breakfast  they  recommenced  with  renewed 
vigour,  taking  a  new  line ;  that  is  to  say,  directing 
their  attention  to  clothes  that  might  be  supposed  to 
have  come  in  contact  with  the  tubs  in  their  removal 
from  the  shore,  such  garments  being  usually  tainted 
with  the  spirit,  owing  to  its  oozing  between  the  staves. 
They  now  sniffed  at — 

Smock-frocks  Smiths'  and  shoemakers'  aprons 

Old  shirts  and  waistcoats  Knee-naps  and  hedging-gloves 

Coats  and  hats  Tarpaulins 

Breeches  and  leggings  Market-cloaks 

Women's  shawls  and  gowns  Scarecrows. 

And  as  soon  as  the  mid-day  meal  was  over,  they 
pushed  their  search  into  places  where  the  spirits  might 
have  been  thrown  away  in  alarm  : — 

Horse-ponds  Mixens  Sinks  in  yards 

Stable-drains  Wet  ditches  Road-scrapings,  and 

Cinder-heaps  Cesspools  Back-door  gutters. 

But  still  these  indefatigable  Custom-house  men 
discovered  nothing  more  than  the  original  tell-tale 
smell  in  the  road  opposite  Lizzy's  house,  which  even 
yet  had  not  passed  off. 

1  I'll  tell  ye  what  it  is,  men/  said  Latimer,  about 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  'we  must  begin  over 
again.  Find  them  tubs  I  will.' 

The  men,  who  had  been  hired  for  the  day,  looked 

265 


WESSEX  TALES 

at  their  hands  and  knees,  muddy  with  creeping  on  all 
fours  so  frequently,  and  rubbed  their  noses,  as  if  they 
had  almost  had  enough  of  it ;  for  the  quantity  of  bad 
air  which  had  passed  into  each  one's  nostril  had  rendered 
it  nearly  as  insensible  as  a  flue.  However,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  they  prepared  to  start  anew,  except 
three,  whose  power  of  smell  had  quite  succumbed  under 
the  excessive  wear  and  tear  of  the  day. 

By  this  time  not  a  male  villager  was  to  be  seen  in 
the  parish.  Owlett  was  not  at  his  mill,  the  farmers 
were  not  in  their  fields,  the  parson  was  not  in  his 
garden,  the  smith  had  left  his  forge,  and  the  wheel- 
wright's shop  was  silent. 

'  Where  the  divil  are  the  folk  gone  ? '  said  Latimer, 
waking  up  to  the  fact  of  their  absence,  and  looking 
round.  'I'll  have  'em  up  for  this!  Why  don't  they 
come  and  help  us  ?  There's  not  a  man  about  the  place 
but  the  Methodist  parson,  and  he's  an  old  woman.  I 
demand  assistance  in  the  king's  name ! ' 

'We  must  find  the  jineral  public  afore  we  can 
demand  that,'  said  his  lieutenant. 

'Well,  well,  we  shall  do  better  without  'em,'  said 
Latimer,  who  changed  his  moods  at  a  moment's  notice. 
'  But  there's  great  cause  of  suspicion  in  this  silence  and 
this  keeping  out  of  sight,  and  I'll  bear  it  in  mind.  Now 
we  will  go  across  to  Owlett's  orchard  and  see  what 
we  can  find  there.' 

Stockdale,  who  heard  this  discussion  from  the 
garden -gate,  over  which  he  had  been  leaning,  was 
rather  alarmed,  and  thought  it  a  mistake  of  the  villagers 
to  keep  so  completely  out  of  the  way.  He  himself, 
like  the  Preventives,  had  been  wondering  for  the  last 
half-hour  what  could  have  become  of  them.  Some 
labourers  were  of  necessity  engaged  in  distant  fields, 
but  the  master- workmen  should  have  been  at  home ; 
though  one  and  all,  after  just  showing  themselves  at 
their  shops,  had  apparently  gone  off  for  the  day.  He 
went  in  to  Lizzy,  who  sat  at  a  back  window  sewing,  and 
said,  '  Lizzy,  where  are  the  men  ? ' 

266 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

Lizzy  laughed.  'Where  they  mostly  are  when 
they're  run  so  hard  as  this.'  She  cast  her  eyes  to 
heaven.  '  Up  there,'  she  said. 

Stockdale  looked  up.  '  What — on  the  top  of  the 
church  tower  ? '  he  asked,  seeing  the  direction  of  her 
glance. 

'Yes.' 

'Well,  I  expect  they  will  soon  have  to  come  down,' 
said  he  gravely.  '  I  have  been  listening  to  the  officers, 
and  they  are  going  to  search  the  orchard  over  again, 
and  then  every  nook  in  the  church.' 

Lizzy  looked  alarmed  for  the  first  time.  '  Will 
you  go  and  tell  our  folk  ? '  she  said.  '  They  ought  to 
be  let  know.'  Seeing  his  conscience  struggling  within 
him  like  a  boiling  pot,  she  added,  '  No,  never  mind, 
I'll  go  myself.' 

She  went  out,  descended  the  garden,  and  climbed 
over  the  churchyard  wall  at  the  same  time  that  the 
preventive-men  were  ascending  the  road  to  the  orchard. 
Stockdale  could  do  no  less  than  follow  her.  By  the 
time  that  she  reached  the  tower  entrance  he  was  at 
her  side,  and  they  entered  together. 

N  ether- Moynton  church-tower  was,  as  in  many 
villages,  without  a  turret,  and  the  only  way  to  the  top 
was  by  going  up  to  the  singers'  gallery,  and  thence 
ascending  by  a  ladder  to  a  square  trap-door  in  the  floor 
of  the  bell-loft,  above  which  a  permanent  ladder  was 
fixed,  passing  through  the  bells  to  a  hole  in  the  roof. 
When  Lizzy  and  Stockdale  reached  the  gallery  and 
looked  up,  nothing  but  the  trap-door  and  the  five 
holes  for  the  bell-ropes  appeared.  The  ladder  was 
gone. 

'  There's  no  getting  up,'  said  Stockdale. 

' O  yes,  there  is,'  said  she.  'There's  an  eye  look- 
ing at  us  at  this  moment  through  a  knot-hole  in  that 
trap-door.' 

And  as  she  spoke  the  trap  opened,  and  the  dark 
line  of  the  ladder  was  seen  descending  against  the 
white-washed  wall.  When  it  touched  the  bottom 

267 


WESSEX  TALES 

Lizzy  dragged  it  to  its  place,  and  said,  '  If  you'll  go  up, 
I'll  follow.' 

The  young  man  ascended,  and  presently  found 
himself  among  consecrated  bells  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  nonconformity  having  been  in  the  Stockdale 
blood  for  some  generations.  He  eyed  them  uneasily, 
and  looked  round  for  Lizzy.  Owlett  stood  here,  hold- 
ing the  top  of  the  ladder. 

4  What,  be  you  really  one  of  us  ? '  said  the  miller. 

'  It  seems  so,'  said  Stockdale  sadly. 

'  He's  not,'  said  Lizzy,  who  overheard.  '  He's 
neither  for  nor  against  us.  He'll  do  us  no  harm.' 

She  stepped  up  beside  them,  and  then  they  went 
on  to  the  next  stage,  which,  when  they  had  clambered 
over  the  dusty  bell -carriages,  was  of  easy  ascent,  lead- 
ing towards  the  hole  through  which  the  pale  sky 
appeared,  and  into  the  open  air.  Owlett  remained 
behind  for  a  moment,  to  pull  up  the  lower  ladder. 

'  Keep  down  your  heads,'  said  a  voice,  as  soon  as 
they  set  foot  on  the  flat. 

Stockdale  here  beheld  all  the  missing  parishioners, 
lying  on  their  stomachs  on  the  tower  roof,  except  a  few 
who,  elevated  on  their  hands  and  knees,  were  peeping 
through  the  embrasures  of  the  parapet.  Stockdale  did 
the  same,  and  saw  the  village  lying  like  a  map  below 
him,  over  which  moved  the  figures  of  the  Customs-men, 
each  foreshortened  to  a  crablike  object,  the  crown  of 
his  hat  forming  a  circular  disc  in  the  centre  of  him. 
Some  of  the  men  had  turned  their  heads  when  the 
young  preacher's  figure  arose  among  them. 

4  What,  Mr.  Stockdale  ? '  said  Matt  Grey,  in  a  tone 
of  surprise. 

'I'd  as  lief  that  it  hadn't  been,'  said  Jim  Clarke. 
'  If  the  pa'son  should  see  him  a  trespassing  here  in  his 
tower,  'twould  be  none  the  better  for  we,  seeing  how  'a 
do  hate  chapel-members.  He'd  never  buy  a  tub  of  us 
again,  and  he's  as  good  a  customer  as  we  have  got 
this  side  o'  Warm'll.' 

'  Where  is  the  pa'son  ? '  said  Lizzy. 

268 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

'In  his  house,  to  be  sure,  that  he  mid  see  nothing 
of  what's  going  on — where  all  good  folks  ought  to  be, 
and  this  young  man  likewise.' 

'Well,  he  has  brought  some  news,'  said  Lizzy. 
'  They  are  going  to  search  the  orchard  and  church ; 
can  we  do  anything  if  they  should  find  ? ' 

1  Yes,'  said  her  cousin  Owlett.  '  That's  what  we've 
been  talking  o',  and  we  have  settled  our  line.  Well, 
be  dazed ! ' 

The  exclamation  was  caused  by  his  perceiving  that 
some  of  the  searchers,  having  got  into  the  orchard, 
and  begun  stooping  and  creeping  hither  and  thither, 
were  pausing  in  the  middle,  where  a  tree  smaller  than 
the  rest  was  growing.  They  drew  closer,  and  bent 
lower  than  ever  upon  the  ground. 

'  O,  my  tubs ! '  said  Lizzy  faintly,  as  she  peered 
through  the  parapet  at  them. 

'  They  have  got  'em,  'a  b'lieve,'  said  Owlett. 

The  interest  in  the  movements  of  the  officers  was 
so  keen  that  not  a  single  eye  was  looking  in  any  other 
direction  ;  but  at  that  moment  a  shout  from  the  church 
beneath  them  attracted  the  attention  of  the  smugglers, 
as  it  did  also  of  the  party  in  the  orchard,  who  sprang 
to  their  feet  and  went  towards  the  churchyard  wall. 
At  the  same  time  those  of  the  Government  men  who 
had  entered  the  church  unperceived  by  the  smugglers 
cried  aloud,  '  Here  be  some  of  'em  at  last.' 

The  smugglers  remained  in  a  blank  silence,  uncer- 
tain whether  '  some  of  'em '  meant  tubs  or  men  ;  but 
again  peeping  cautiously  over  the  edge  of  the  tower 
they  learnt  that  tubs  were  the  things  descried ;  and 
soon  these  fated  articles  were  brought  one  by  one  into 
the  middle  of  the  churchyard  from  their  hiding-place 
under  the  gallery-stairs. 

'They  are  going  to  put  'em  on  Hinton's  vault 
till  they  find  the  rest ! '  said  Lizzy  hopelessly.  The 
Customs-men  had,  in  fact,  begun  to  pile  up  the  tubs 
on  a  large  stone  slab  which  was  fixed  there  ;  and  when 
all  were  brought  out  from  the  tower,  two  or  three  of 

269 


WESSEX  TALES 

the  men  were  left  standing  by  them,  the  rest  of  the 
party  again  proceeding  to  the  orchard. 

The  interest  of  the  smugglers  in  the  next  manceuvres 
of  their  enemies  became  painfully  intense.  Only  about 
thirty  tubs  had  been  secreted  in  the  lumber  of  the 
tower,  but  seventy  were  hidden  in  the  orchard,  making 
up  all  that  they  had  brought  ashore  as  yet,  the  remainder 
of  the  cargo  having  been  tied  to  a  sinker  and  dropped 
overboard  for  another  night's  operations.  The  Pre- 
ventives, having  re-entered  the  orchard,  acted  as  if 
they  were  positive  that  here  lay  hidden  the  rest  of  the 
tubs,  which  they  were  determined  to  find  before  night- 
fall. They  spread  themselves  out  round  the  field,  and 
advancing  on  all  fours  as  before,  went  anew  round 
every  apple-tree  in  the  enclosure.  The  young  tree  in 
the  middle  again  led  them  to  pause,  and  at  length  the 
whole  company  gathered  there  in  a  way  which  signified 
that  a  second  chain  of  reasoning  had  led  to  the  same 
results  as  the  first. 

When  they  had  examined  the  sod  hereabouts  for 
some  minutes,  one  of  the  men  rose,  ran  to  a  disused 
part  of  the  church  where  tools  were  kept,  and 
returned  with  the  sexton's  pickaxe  and  shovel,  with 
which  they  set  to  work. 

'  Are  they  really  buried  there  ? '  said  the  minister, 
for  the  grass  was  so  green  and  uninjured  that  it 
was  difficult  to  believe  it  had  been  disturbed.  The 
smugglers  were  too  interested  to  reply,  and  presently 
they  saw,  to  their  chagrin,  the  officers  stand  several 
on  each  side  of  the  tree ;  and,  stooping  and  applying 
their  hands  to  the  soil,  they  bodily  lifted  the  tree  and 
the  turf  around  it.  The  apple-tree  now  showed  itself 
to  be  growing  in  a  shallow  box,  with  handles  for  lifting 
at  each  of  the  four  sides.  Under  the  site  of  the  tree 
a  square  hole  was  revealed,  and  an  officer  went  and 
looked  down. 

'  It  is  all  up  now,'  said  Owlett  quietly.  '  And  now 
all  of  ye  get  down  before  they  notice  we  are  here  ;  and 
be  ready  for  our  next  move.  I  had  better  bide  here 

270 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

till  dark,  or  they  may  take  me  on  suspicion,  as  'tis  on 
my  ground.  I'll  be  with  ye  as  soon  as  daylight  begins 
to  pink  in.' 

'  And  I  ?  '  said  Lizzy. 

'  You  please  look  to  the  linch-pins  and  screws  ;  then 
go  indoors  and  know  nothing  at  all.  The  chaps  will 
do  the  rest.' 

The  ladder  was  replaced,  and  all  but  Owlett  de- 
scended, the  men  passing  off  one  by  one  at  the  back  of 
the  church,  and  vanishing  on  their  respective  errands. 
Lizzy  walked  boldly  along  the  street,  followed  closely 
by  the  minister. 

'  You  are  going  indoors,  Mrs.  Newberry  ?  '  he  said. 

She  knew  from  the  words  '  Mrs.  Newberry '  that 
the  division  between  them  had  widened  yet  another 
degree. 

'  I  am  not  going  home,'  she  said.  '  I  have  a  little 
thing  to  do  before  I  go  in.  Martha  Sarah  will  get 
your  tea.' 

'  O,  I  don't  mean  on  that  account,'  said  Stockdale. 
4  What  can  you  have  to  do  further  in  this  unhallowed 
affair?' 

'  Only  a  little,'  she  said. 

'What  is  that?     I'll  go  with  you. 

'  No,  I  shall  go  by  myself.  Will  you  please  go  in- 
doors? I  shall  be  there  in  less  than  an  hour.' 

'  You  are  not  going  to  run  any  danger,  Lizzy  ? '  said 
the  young  man,  his  tenderness  reasserting  itself. 

'  None  whatever — worth  mentioning,'  answered  she, 
and  went  down  towards  the  Cross. 

Stockdale  entered  the  garden  gate,  and  stood  behind 
it  looking  on.  The  Preventive-men  were  still  busy  in 
the  orchard,  and  at  last  he  was  tempted  to  enter  and 
watch  their  proceedings.  When  he  came  closer  he 
found  that  the  secret  cellar,  of  whose  existence  he  had 
been  totally  unaware,  was  formed  by  timbers  placed 
across  from  side  to  side  about  a  foot  under  the  ground, 
and  grassed  over. 

The  officers  looked  up  at  Stockdale's  fair  and 

271 


WESSEX  TALES 

downy  countenance,  and  evidently  thinking  him  above 
suspicion,  went  on  with  their  work  again.  As  soon  as 
all  the  tubs  were  taken  out  they  began  tearing  up  the 
turf,  pulling  out  the  timbers,  and  breaking  in  the  sides, 
till  the  cellar  was  wholly  dismantled  and  shapeless,  the 
apple-tree  lying  with  its  roots  high  to  the  air.  But  the 
hole  which  had  in  its  time  held  so  much  contraband 
merchandize  was  never  completely  filled  up,  either  then 
or  afterwards,  a  depression  in  the  greensward  marking 
the  spot  to  this  day. 


THE   WALK  TO   WARM'ELL  CROSS 

AND  AFTERWARDS 

VII 

As  the  goods  had  all  to  be  carried  to  Budmouth  that 
night,  the  next  object  of  the  Custom-house  officers 
was  to  find  horses  and  carts  for  the  journey,  and  they 
went  about  the  village  for  that  purpose.  Latimer 
strode  hither  and  thither  with  a  lump  of  chalk  in  his 
hand,  marking  broad-arrows  so  vigorously  on  every 
vehicle  and  set  of  harness  that  he  came  across,  that  it 
seemed  as  if  he  would  chalk  broad-arrows  on  the  very 
hedges  and  roads.  The  owner  of  every  conveyance 
so  marked  was  bound  to  give  it  up  for  Government 
purposes.  Stockdale,  who  had  had  enough  of  the 
scene,  turned  indoors  thoughtful  and  depressed.  Lizzy 
was  already  there,  having  come  in  at  the  back,  though 
she  had  not  yet  taken  off  her  bonnet.  She  looked 
tired,  and  her  mood  was  not  much  brighter  than  his 
own.  They  had  but  little  to  say  to  each  other ;  and 
the  minister  went  away  and  attempted  to  read  ;  but  at 
this  he  could  not  succeed,  and  he  shook  the  little  bell 
for  tea. 

Lizzy  herself  brought  in  the  tray,  the  girl  having 
run  off  into  the  village  during  the  afternoon,  too  full 
of  excitement  at  the  proceedings  to  remember  her 
state  of  life.  However,  almost  before  the  sad  lovers 
had  said  anything  to  each  other,  Martha  came  in  in  a 
steaming  state. 


WESSEX  TALES 

'  O,  there's  such  a  stoor,  Mrs.  Newberry  and  Mr. 
Stockdale !  The  king's  officers  can't  get  the  carts 
ready  nohow  at  all !  They  pulled  Thomas  Artnell's, 
and  William  Rogers's,  and  Stephen  Sprake's  carts  into 
the  road,  and  off  came  the  wheels,  and  down  fell  the 
carts ;  and  they  found  there  was  no  linch-pins  in  the 
arms ;  and  then  they  tried  Samuel  Shane's  waggon, 
and  found  that  the  screws  were  gone  from  he,  and  at 
last  they  looked  at  the  dairyman's  cart,  and  he's  got 
none  neither!  They  have  gone  now  to  the  black- 
smith's to  get  some  made,  but  he's  nowhere  to  be 
found!' 

Stockdale  looked  at  "Lizzy,  who  blushed  very 
slightly,  and  went  out  of  the  room,  followed  by 
Martha  Sarah.  But  before  they  had  got  through 
the  passage  there  was  a  rap  at  the  front  door,  and 
Stockdale  recognized  Latimer's  voice  addressing  Mrs. 
Newberry,  who  had  turned  back. 

'For  God's  sake,  Mrs.  Newberry,  have  you  seen 
Hardman  the  blacksmith  up  this  way  ?  If  we  could 
get  hold  of  him,  we'd  e'en  a'most  drag  him  by  the  hair 
of  his  head  to  his  anvil,  where  he  ought  to  be.' 

'  He's  an  idle  man,  Mr.  Latimer,'  said  Lizzy  archly. 
'  What  do  you  want  him  for  ? ' 

'  Why,  there  isn't  a  horse  in  the  place  that  has  got 
more  than  three  shoes  on,  and  some  have  only  two. 
The  waggon- wheels  be  without  strakes,  and  there's  no 
linch-pins  to  the  carts.  What  with  that,  and  the 
bother  about  every  set  of  harness  being  out  of  order, 
we  shan't  be  off  before  nightfall — upon  my  soul  we 
shan't.  'Tis  a  rough  lot,  Mrs.  Newberry,  that  you've 
got  about  you  here  ;  but  they'll  play  at  this  game  once 
too  often,  mark  my  words  they  will !  There's  not  a 
man  in  the  parish  that  don't  deserve  to  be  whipped.' 

It  happened  that  Hardman  was  at  that  moment  a 
little  further  up  the  lane,  smoking  his  pipe  behind  a 
holly-bush.  When  Latimer  had  done  speaking  he 
went  on  in  this  direction,  and  Hardman,  hearing  the 
riding-officer's  steps,  found  curiosity  too  strong  for 

274 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

prudence.  He  peeped  out  from  the  bush  at  the  very 
moment  that  Latimer's  glance  was  on  it.  There  was 
nothing  left  for  him  to  do  but  to  come  forward  with 
unconcern. 

'  I've  been  looking  for  you  for  the  last  hour ! '  said 
Latimer  with  a  glare  in  his  eye. 

'  Sorry  to  hear  that,'  said  Hardman.  '  I've  been 
out  for  a  stroll,  to  look  for  more  hid  tubs,  to  deliver 
'em  up  to  Gover'ment.' 

'  O  yes,  Hardman,  we  know  it,'  said  Latimer,  with 
withering  sarcasm.  '  We  know  that  you'll  deliver  'em 
up  to  Gover'ment.  We  know  that  all  the  parish  is 
helping  us,  and  have  been  all  day  !  Now  you  please 
walk  along  with  me  down  to  your  shop,  and  kindly  let 
me  hire  ye  in  the  king's  name.' 

They  went  down  the  lane  together ;  and  presently 
there  resounded  from  the  smithy  the  ring  of  a  hammer 
not  very  briskly  swung.  However,  the  carts  and 
horses  were  got  into  some  sort  of  travelling  condition, 
but  it  was  not  until  after  the  clock  had  struck  six, 
when  the  muddy  roads  were  glistening  under  the 
horizontal  light  of  the  fading  day.  The  smuggled 
tubs  were  soon  packed  into  the  vehicles,  and  Latimer, 
with  three  of  his  assistants,  drove  slowly  out  of  the 
village  in  the  direction  of  the  port  of  Budmouth,  some 
considerable  number  of  miles  distant,  the  other  men  of 
the  Preventive-guard  being  left  to  watch  for  the  re- 
mainder of  the  cargo,  which  they  knew  to  have  been 
sunk  somewhere  between  Ringsworth  and  Lulwind 
Cove,  and  to  unearth  Owlett,  the  only  person  clearly 
implicated  by  the  discovery  of  the  cave. 

Women  and  children  stood  at  the  doors  as  the 
carts,  each  chalked  with  the  Government  pitchfork, 
passed  in  the  increasing  twilight ;  and  as  they  stood 
they  looked  at  the  confiscated  property  with  a  melan- 
choly expression  that  told  only  too  plainly  the  relation 
which  they  bore  to  the  trade. 

'  Well,  Lizzy,'  said  Stockdale,  when  the  crackle  of 
the  wheels  had  nearly  died  away.  '  This  is  a  fit  finish 

275 


WESSEX  TALES 

to  your  adventure.  I  am  truly  thankful  that  you  have 
got  off  without  suspicion,  and  the  loss  only  of  the 
liquor.  Will  you  sit  down  and  let  me  talk  to  you  ?  ' 

1  By  and  by,'  she  said.  '  But  I  must  go  out 
now.' 

4  Not  to  that  horrid  shore  again  ? '  he  said  blankly. 

'  No,  not  there.  I  am  only  going  to  see  the  end  of 
this  day's  business.' 

He  did  not  answer  to  this,  and  she  moved  towards 
the  door  slowly,  as  if  waiting  for  him  to  say  something 
more. 

'  You  don't  offer  to  come  with  me,'  she  added  at 
last.  '  I  suppose  that's  because  you  hate  me  after  all 
this!' 

'  Can  you  say  it,  Lizzy,  when  you  know  I  only  want 
to  save  you  from  such  practices  ?  Come  with  you ! — 
of  course  I  will,  if  it  is  only  to  take  care  of  you.  But 
why  will  you  go  out  again  ?  ' 

'  Because  I  cannot  rest  indoors.  Something  is 
happening,  and  I  must  know  what.  Now,  come ! ' 
And  they  went  into  the  dusk  together. 

When  they  reached  the  turnpike-road  she  turned 
to  the  right,  and  he  soon  perceived  that  they  were 
following  the  direction  of  the  Preventive-men  and  their 
load.  He  had  given  her  his  arm,  and  every  now  and 
then  she  suddenly  pulled  it  back,  to  signify  that  he 
was  to  halt  a  moment  and  listen.  They  had  walked 
rather  quickly  along  the  first  quarter  of  a  mile,  and  on 
the  second  or  third  time  of  standing  still  she  said,  '  I 
hear  them  ahead — don't  you  ? ' 

'  Yes,'  he  said  ;  '  I  hear  the  wheels.  But  what  of 
that?' 

'  I  only  want  to  know  if  they  get  clear  away  from 
the  neighbourhood.' 

'  Ah,'  said  he,  a  light  breaking  upon  him.  '  Some- 
thing desperate  is  to  be  attempted ! — and  now  I  re- 
member there  was  not  a  man  about  the  village  when 
we  left.' 

'  Hark ! '  she  murmured.     The  noise  of  the  cart- 

276 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

wheels  had  stopped,  and  given  place  to  another  sort  of 
sound. 

'  'Tis  a  scuffle ! '  said  Stockdale.  '  There'll  be 
murder !  Lizzy,  let  go  my  arm  ;  I  am  going  on.  On 
my  conscience,  I  must  not  stay  here  and  do  nothing ! ' 

'  There'll  be  no  murder,  and  not  even  a  broken 
head,'  she  said.  '  Our  men  are  thirty  to  four  of  them  : 
no  harm  will  be  done  at  all.' 

'  Then  there  is  an  attack ! '  exclaimed  Stockdale  ; 
'and  you  knew  it  was  to  be.  Why  should  you  side 
with  men  who  break  the  laws  like  this  ?  ' 

'Why  should  you  side  with  men  who  take  from 
country  traders  what  they  have  honestly  bought  wi' 
their  own  money  in  France  ? '  said  she  firmly. 

'  They  are  not  honestly  bought,'  said  he. 

'  They  are,'  she  contradicted.  '  I  and  Mr.  Owlett 
and  the  others  paid  thirty  shillings  for  every  one  of 
the  tubs  before  they  were  put  on  board  at  Cherbourg, 
and  if  a  king  who  is  nothing  to  us  sends  his  people  to 
steal  our  property,  we  have  a  right  to  steal  it  back 
again.' 

Stockdale  did  not  stop  to  argue  the  matter  but 
went  quickly  in  the  direction  of  the  noise,  Lizzy  keep- 
ing at  his  side.  '  Don't  you  interfere,  will  you,  dear 
Richard  ? '  she  said  anxiously,  as  they  drew  near. 
'  Don't  let  us  go  any  closer :  'tis  at  Warm'ell  Cross 
where  they  are  seizing  'em.  You  can  do  no  good, 
and  you  may  meet  with  a  hard  blow ! ' 

'  Let  us  see  first  what  is  going  on,'  he  said.  But 
before  they  had  got  much  further  the  noise  of  the  cart- 
wheels began  again  ;  and  Stockdale  soon  found  that 
they  were  coming  towards  him.  In  another  minute 
the  three  carts  came  up,  and  Stockdale  and  Lizzy  stood 
in  the  ditch  to  let  them  pass. 

Instead  of  being  conducted  by  four  men,  as  had 
happened  when  they  went  out  of  the  village,  the  horses 
and  carts  were  now  accompanied  by  a  body  of  from 
twenty  to  thirty,  all  of  whom,  as  Stockdale  perceived 
to  his  astonishment,  had  blackened  faces.  Among 

2/7 


WESSEX  TALES 

them  walked  six  or  eight  huge  female  figures,  whom, 
from  their  wide  strides,  Stockdale  guessed  to  be  men 
in  disguise.  As  soon  as  the  party  discerned  Lizzy  and 
her  companion  four  or  five  fell  back,  and  when  the 
carts  had  passed,  came  close  to  the  pair. 

'  There  is  no  walking  up  this  way  for  the  present,' 
said  one  of  the  gaunt  women,  who  wore  curls  a  foot 
long,  dangling  down  the  sides  of  her  face,  in  the 
fashion  of  the  time.  Stockdale  recognized  this  lady's 
voice  as  Owlett's. 

'  Why  not  ? '  said  Stockdale.  '  This  is  the  public 
highway.' 

'  Now  look  here,  youngster,'  said  Owlett.  '  O,  'tis 
the  Methodist  parson  ! — what,  and  Mrs.  Newberry  ! 
Well,  you'd  better  not  go  up  that  way,  Lizzy. 
They've  all  run  off,  and  folks  have  got  their  own 
again.' 

The  miller  then  hastened  on  and  joined  his  com- 
rades. Stockdale  and  Lizzy  also  turned  back.  '  I 
wish  all  this  hadn't  been  forced  upon  us,'  she  said 
regretfully.  '  But  if  those  Coast-men  had  got  off  with 
the  tubs,  half  the  people  in  the  parish  would  have  been 
in  want  for  the  next  month  or  two.' 

Stockdale  was  not  paying  much  attention  to  her 
words,  and  he  said,  '  I  don't  think  I  can  go  back  like 
this.  Those  four  poor  Preventives  may  be  murdered 
for  all  I  know.' 

'  Murdered ! '  said  Lizzy  impatiently.  '  We  don't 
do  murder  here.' 

'Well,  I  shall  go  as  far  as  Warm'ell  Cross  to  see,' 
said  Stockdale  decisively ;  and,  without  wishing  her 
safe  home  or  anything  else,  the  minister  turned  back. 
Lizzy  stood  looking  at  him  till  his  form  was  absorbed 
in  the  shades  ;  and  then,  with  sadness,  she  went  in  the 
direction  of  N  ether- Moynton. 

The  road  was  lonely,  and  after  nightfall  at  this 
time  of  the  year  there  was  often  not  a  passer  for  hours. 
Stockdale  pursued  his  way  without  hearing  a  sound 
beyond  that  of  his  own  footsteps ;  and  in  due  time 

278 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

he  passed  beneath  the  trees  of  the  plantation  which 
surrounded  the  Warm'ell  Cross-road.  Before  he  had 
reached  the  point  of  intersection  he  heard  voices  from 
the  thicket. 

'  Hoi-hoi-hoi !     Help,  help ! ' 

The  voices  were  not  at  all  feeble  or  despairing,  but 
they  were  unmistakably  anxious.  Stockdale  had  no 
weapon,  and  before  plunging  into  the  pitchy  darkness 
of  the  plantation  he  pulled  a  stake  from  the  hedge,  to 
use  in  case  of  need.  When  he  got  among  the  trees 
he  shouted — '  What's  the  matter — where  are  you  ? ' 

'  Here,'  answered  the  voices  ;  and,  pushing  through 
the  brambles  in  that  direction,  he  came  near  the  objects 
of  his  search. 

1  Why  don't  you  come  forward  ? '  said  Stockdale. 

4  We  be  tied  to  the  trees ! ' 

4  Who  are  you  ? ' 

1  Poor  Will  Latimer  the  Customs -officer ! '  said  one 
plaintively.  'Just  come  and  cut  these  cords,  there's 
a  good  man.  We  were  afraid  nobody  would  pass  by 
to-night.' 

Stockdale  soon  loosened  them,  upon  which  they 
stretched  their  limbs  and  stood  at  their  ease. 

'  The  rascals ! '  said  Latimer,  getting  now  into  a 
rage,  though  he  had  seemed  quite  meek  when  Stock- 
dale  first  came  up.  '  'Tis  the  same  set  of  fellows.  I 
know  they  were  Moynton  chaps  to  a  man.' 

'  But  we  can't  swear  to  'em,'  said  another.  '  Not 
one  of  'em  spoke.' 

'  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? '  said  Stockdale. 

'  I'd  fain  go  back  to  Moynton,  and  have  at  'em 
again  ! '  said  Latimer. 

1  So  would  we ! '  said  his  comrades. 

'  Fight  till  we  die ! '  said  Latimer. 

'  We  will,  we  will ! '  said  his  men. 

'  But,'  said  Latimer,  more  frigidly,  as  they  came 
out  of  the  plantation,  '  we  don't  know  that  these  chaps 
with  black  faces  were  Moynton  men  ?  And  proof  is  a. 
hard  thing.' 

279 


WESSEX  TALES 

'  So  it  is,'  said  the  rest. 

'  And  therefore  we  won't  do  nothing  at  all,'  said 
Latimer,  with  complete  dispassionateness.  '  For  my 
part,  I'd  sooner  be  them  than  we.  The  ditches  of  my 
arms  are  burning  like  fire  from  the  cords  those  two 
strapping  women  tied  round  'em.  My  opinion  is,  now 
I  have  had  time  to  think  o't,  that  you  may  serve  your 
Gover'ment  at  too  high  a  price.  For  these  two  nights 
and  days  I  have  not  had  an  hour's  rest ;  and,  please 
God,  here's  for  home-along.' 

The  other  officers  agreed  heartily  to  this  course ; 
and,  thanking  Stockdale  for  his  timely  assistance,  they 
parted  from  him  at  the  Cross,  taking  themselves  the 
western  road,  and  Stockdale  going  back  to  Nether- 
Moynton. 

During  that  walk  the  minister  was  lost  in  reverie 
of  the  most  painful  kind.  As  soon  as  he  got  into  the 
house,  and  before  entering  his  own  rooms,  he  advanced 
to  the  door  of  the  little  back  parlour  in  which  Lizzy 
usually  sat  with  her  mother.  He  found  her  there 
alone.  Stockdale  went  forward,  and,  like  a  man  in 
a  dream,  looked  down  upon  the  table  that  stood 
between  him  and  the  young  woman,  who  had  her 
bonnet  and  cloak  still  on.  As  he  did  not  speak, 
she  looked  up  from  her  chair  at  him,  with  misgiving 
in  her  eye. 

'  Where  are  they  gone  ? '  he  then  said  listlessly. 

'  Who  ? — I  don't  know.  I  have  seen  nothing  of 
them  since.  I  came  straight  in  here.' 

'  If  your  men  can  manage  to  get  off  with  those 
tubs,  it  will  be  a  great  profit  to  you,  I  suppose  ? ' 

'  A  share  will  be  mine,  a  share  my  cousin  Owlett's, 
a  share  to  each  of  the  two  farmers,  and  a  share  divided 
amongst  the  men  who  helped  us.' 

'  And  you  still  think,'  he  went  on  slowly,  '  that  you 
will  not  give  this  business  up  ?  ' 

Lizzy  rose,  and  put  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 
'  Don't  ask  that,'  she  whispered.  '  You  don't  know 
what  you  are  asking.  I  must  tell  you,  though  I  meant 

280 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

not  to  do  it.  What  I  make  by  that  trade  is  all  I  have 
to  keep  my  mother  and  myself  with.' 

He  was  astonished.  '  I  did  not  dream  of  such  a 
thing,'  he  said.  '  I  would  rather  have  scraped  the 
roads,  had  I  been  you.  What  is  money  compared 
with  a  clear  conscience  ? ' 

'  My  conscience  is  clear.  I  know  my  mother,  but 
the  king  I  have  never  seen.  His  dues  are  nothing  to 
me.  But  it  is  a  great  deal  to  me  that  my  mother  and 
I  should  live.' 

1  Marry  me,  and  promise  to  give  it  up.  I  will  keep 
your  mother.' 

'  It  is  good  of  you,'  she  said,  moved  a  little.  '  Let 
me  think  of  it  by  myself.  I  would  rather  not  answer 
now.' 

She  reserved  her  answer  till  the  next  day,  and 
came  into  his  room  with  a  solemn  face.  '  I  cannot  do 
what  you  wished ! '  she  said  passionately.  '  It  is  too 
much  to  ask.  My  whole  life  ha'  been  passed  in  this 
way.'  Her  words  and  manner  showed  that  before 
entering  she  had  been  struggling  with  herself  in 
private,  and  that  the  contention  had  been  strong. 

Stockdale  turned  pale,  but  he  spoke  quietly. 
'  Then,  Lizzy,  we  must  part.  I  cannot  go  against  my 
principles  in  this  matter,  and  I  cannot  make  my 
profession  a  mockery.  You  know  how  I  love  you, 
and  what  I  would  do  for  you ;  but  this  one  thing  I 
cannot  do.' 

4  But  why  should  you  belong  to  that  profession  ? ' 
she  burst  out.  '  I  have  got  this  large  house ;  why 
can't  you  marry  me,  and  live  here  with  us,  and  not 
be  a  Methodist  preacher  any  more?  I  assure  you, 
Richard,  it  is  no  harm,  and  I  wish  you  could  only  see 
it  as  I  do !  We  only  carry  it  on  in  winter  :  in  summer 
it  is  never  done  at  all.  It  stirs  up  one's  dull  life  at 
this  time  o'  the  year,  and  gives  excitement,  which  I 
have  got  so  used  to  now  that  I  should  hardly  know 
how  to  do  'ithout  it.  At  nights,  when  the  wind  blows, 
instead  of  being  dull  and  stupid,  and  not  noticing 

281 


WESSEX  TALES 

whether  it  do  blow  or  not,  your  mind  is  afield,  even  if 
you  are  not  afield  yourself;  and  you  are  wondering 
how  the  chaps  are  getting  on ;  and  you  walk  up  and 
down  the  room,  and  look  out  o'  window,  and  then  you 
go  out  yourself,  and  know  your  way  about  as  well  by 
night  as  by  day,  and  have  hairbreadth  escapes  from 
old  Latimer  and  his  fellows,  who  are  too  stupid  ever 
to  really  frighten  us,  and  only  make  us  a  bit  nimble.' 

'  He  frightened  you  a  little  last  night,  anyhow : 
and  I  would  advise  you  to  drop  it  before  it  is  worse.' 

She  shook  her  head.  'No,  I  must  go  on  as  I 
have  begun.  I  was  born  to  it.  It  is  in  my  blood, 
and  I  can't  be  cured.  O,  Richard,  you  cannot  think 
what  a  hard  thing  you  have  asked,  and  how  sharp  you 
try  me  when  you  put  me  between  this  and  my  love 
for 'eel' 

Stockdale  was  leaning  with  his  elbow  on  the 
mantelpiece,  his  hands  over  his  eyes.  'We  ought 
never  to  have  met,  Lizzy,'  he  said.  '  It  was  an  ill  day 
for  us !  I  little  thought  there  was  anything  so  hopeless 
and  impossible  in  our  engagement  as  this.  Well,  it  is 
too  late  now  to  regret  consequences  in  this  way.  I 
have  had  the  happiness  of  seeing  you  and  knowing 
you  at  least.' 

'You  dissent  from  Church,  and  I  dissent  from 
State,'  she  said.  '  And  I  don't  see  why  we  are  not 
well  matched.' 

He  smiled  sadly,  while  Lizzy  remained  looking 
down,  her  eyes  beginning  to  overflow. 

That  was  an  unhappy  evening  for  both  of  them, 
and  the  days  that  followed  were  unhappy  days.  Both 
she  and  he  went  mechanically  about  their  employments, 
and  his  depression  was  marked  in  the  village  by  more 
than  one  of  his  denomination  with  whom  he  came  in 
contact.  But  Lizzy,  who  passed  her  days  indoors,  was 
unsuspected  of  being  the  cause :  for  it  was  generally 
understood  that  a  quiet  engagement  to  marry  existed 
between  her  and  her  cousin  Owlett,  and  had  existed 
for  some  time. 

282 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

Thus  uncertainly  the  week  passed  on ;  till  one 
morning  Stockdale  said  to  her :  '  I  have  had  a  letter, 
Lizzy.  I  must  call  you  that  till  I  am  gone.' 

1  Gone  ? '  said  she  blankly. 

'Yes,'  he  said.  'I  am  going  from  this  place.  I 
felt  it  would  be  better  for  us  both  that  I  should  not 
stay  after  what  has  happened.  In  fact,  I  couldn't  stay 
here,  and  look  on  you  from  day  to  day,  without 
becoming  weak  and  faltering  in  my  course.  I  have 
just  heard  of  an  arrangement  by  which  the  other 
minister  can  arrive  here  in  about  a  week ;  and  let  me 
go  elsewhere.' 

That  he  had  all  this  time  continued  so  firmly  fixed 
in  his  resolution  came  upon  her  as  a  grievous  surprise. 
'  You  never  loved  me ! '  she  said  bitterly. 

'I  might  say  the  same,'  he  returned;  'but  I  will 
not.  Grant  me  one  favour.  Come  and  hear  my  last 
sermon  on  the  day  before  I  go.' 

Lizzy,  who  was  a  church-goer  on  Sunday  morn- 
ings, frequently  attended  Stockdale's  chapel  in  the 
evening  with  the  rest  of  the  double-minded ;  and  she 
promised. 

It  became  known  that  Stockdale  was  going  to 
leave,  and  a  good  many  people  outside  his  own  sect 
were  sorry  to  hear  it.  The  intervening  days  flew 
rapidly  away,  and  on  the  evening  of  the  Sunday  which 
preceded  the  morning  of  his  departure  Lizzy  sat  in  the 
chapel  to  hear  him  for  the  last  time.  The  little 
building  was  full  to  overflowing,  and  he  took  up  the 
subject  which  all  had  expected,  that  of  the  contraband 
trade  so  extensively  practised  among  them.  His 
hearers,  in  laying  his  words  to  their  own  hearts,  did 
not  perceive  that  they  were  most  particularly  directed 
against  Lizzy,  till  the  sermon  waxed  warm,  and  Stock- 
dale  nearly  broke  down  with  emotion.  In  truth  his 
own  earnestness,  and  her  sad  eyes  looking  up  at  him, 
were  too  much  for  the  young  man's  equanimity.  He 
hardly  knew  how  he  ended.  He  saw  Lizzy,  as 
through  a  mist,  turn  and  go  away  with  the  rest  of  the 

283 


WESSEX  TALES 

congregation ;  and  shortly  afterwards  followed  her 
home. 

She  invited  him  to  supper,  and  they  sat  down 
alone,  her  mother  having,  as  was  usual  with  her  on 
Sunday  nights,  gone  to  bed  early. 

'  We  will  part  friends,  won't  we  ? '  said  Lizzy,  with 
forced  gaiety,  and  never  alluding  to  the  sermon  :  a 
reticence  which  rather  disappointed  him. 

'  We  will,'  he  said,  with  a  forced  smile  on  his  part ; 
and  they  sat  down. 

It  was  the  first  meal  that  they  had  ever  shared 
together  in  their  lives,  and  probably  the  last  that  they 
would  so  share.  When  it  was  over,  and  the  indifferent 
conversation  could  no  longer  be  continued,  he  arose 
and  took  her  hand.  '  Lizzy,'  he  said,  'do  you  say  we 
must  part — do  you  ?  ' 

'  You  do,'  she  said  solemnly.  '  I  can  say  no 
more.' 

'  Nor  I,'  said  he.  '  If  that  is  your  answer,  good- 
bye!' 

Stockdale  bent  over  her  and  kissed  her,  and  she 
involuntarily  returned  his  kiss.  '  I  shall  go  early,'  he 
said  hurriedly.  '  I  shall  not  see  you  again.' 

And  he  did  leave  early.  He  fancied,  when 
stepping  forth  into  the  grey  morning  light,  to  mount 
the  van  which  was  to  carry  him  away,  that  he  saw  a 
face  between  the  parted  curtains  of  Lizzy's  window,  but 
the  light  was  faint,  and  the  panes  glistened  with  wet ; 
so  he  could  not  be  sure.  Stockdale  mounted  the 
vehicle,  and  was  gone  ;  and  on  the  following  Sunday 
the  new  minister  preached  in  the  chapel  of  the 
Moynton  Wesleyans. 

One  day,  two  years  after  the  parting,  Stockdale, 
now  settled  in  a  midland  town,  came  into  Nether- 
Moynton  by  carrier  in  the  original  way.  Jogging 
along  in  the  van  that  afternoon  he  had  put  questions  to 
the  driver,  and  the  answers  that  he  received  interested 
the  minister  deeply.  The  result  of  them  was  that  he 

284 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

went  without  the  least  hesitation  to  the  door  of  his 
former  lodging.  It  was  about  six  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  and  the  same  time  of  year  as  when  he  had 
left ;  now,  too,  the  ground  was  damp  and  glistening, 
the  west  was  bright,  and  Lizzy's  snowdrops  were 
raising  their  heads  in  the  border  under  the  wall. 

Lizzy  must  have  caught  sight  of  him  from  the 
window,  for  by  the  time  that  he  reached  the  door  she 
was  there  holding  it  open :  and  then,  as  if  she  had 
not  sufficiently  considered  her  act  of  coming  out,  she 
drew  herself  back,  saying  with  some  constraint,  '  Mr. 
Stockdale ! ' 

'You  knew  it  was,'  said  Stockdale,  taking  her 
hand.  '  I  wrote  to  say  I  should  call.' 

'  Yes,  but  you  did  not  say  when,'  she  answered. 

'  I  did  not.  I  was  not  quite  sure  when  my  business 
would  lead  me  to  these  parts.' 

'  You  only  came  because  business  brought  you 
near  ? ' 

'  Well,  that  is  the  fact ;  but  I  have  often  thought  I 
should  like  to  come  on  purpose  to  see  you.  .  .  .  But 
what's  all  this  that  has  happened  ?  I  told  you  how  it 
would  be,  Lizzy,  and  you  would  not  listen  to  me.' 

'  I  would  not,'  she  said  sadly.  '  But  I  had  been 
brought  up  to  that  life  ;  and  it  was  second  nature  to 
me.  However,  it  is  all  over  now.  The  officers  have 
blood-money  for  taking  a  man  dead  or  alive,  and  the 
trade  is  going  to  nothing.  We  were  hunted  down  like 
rats.' 

'  Owlett  is  quite  gone,  I  hear.' 

'Yes.  He  is  in  America.  We  had  a  dreadful 
struggle  that  last  time,  when  they  tried  to  take  him. 
It  is  a  perfect  miracle  that  he  lived  through  it ;  and  it 
is  a  wonder  that  I  was  not  killed.  I  was  shot  in  the 
hand.  It  was  not  by  aim  ;  the  shot  was  really  meant 
for  my  cousin  ;  but  I  was  behind,  looking  on  as  usual, 
and  the  bullet  came  to  me.  It  bled  terribly,  but  I  got 
home  without  fainting ;  and  it  healed  after  a  time. 
You  know  how  he  suffered  ? ' 

285 


WESSEX  TALES 

'  No,'  said  Stockdale.  '  I  only  heard  that  he  just 
escaped  with  his  life.' 

'  He  was  shot  in  the  back ;  but  a  rib  turned  the 
ball.  He  was  badly  hurt.  We  would  not  let  him  be 
took.  The  men  carried  him  all  night  across  the  meads 
to  Kingsbere,  and  hid  him  in  a  barn,  dressing  his 
wound  as  well  as  they  could,  till  he  was  so  far  recovered 
as  to  be  able  to  get  about.  Then  he  was  caught,  and 
tried  with  the  others  at  the  assizes  ;  but  they  all  got 
off.1  He  had  given  up  his  mill  for  some  time  ;  and  at 
last  he  went  to  Bristol,  and  took  a  passage  to  America, 
where  he's  settled.' 

I  What  do  you  think  of  smuggling  now  ? '  said  the 
minister  gravely. 

I 1  own  that  we  were  wrong,'  said  she.     '  But    I 
have  suffered  for  it.      I  am  very  poor  now,  and  my 
mother  has  been  dead  these  twelve  months.  ...   But 
won't  you  come  in,  Mr.  Stockdale  ? ' 

Stockdale  went  in ;  and  it  is  to  be  supposed  that 
they  came  to  an  understanding ;  for  a  fortnight  later 
there  was  a  sale  of  Lizzy's  furniture,  and  after  that  a 
wedding  at  a  chapel  in  a  neighbouring  town. 

He  took  her  away  from  her  old  haunts  to  the 
home  that  he  had  made  for  himself  in  his  native  county, 
where  she  studied  her  duties  as  a  minister's  wife  with 
praiseworthy  assiduity.  It  is  said  that  in  after  years 
she  wrote  an  excellent  tract  called  Render  unto  Casar  ; 
or,  Tke  Repentant  Villagers,  in  which  her  own  ex- 
perience was  anonymously  used  as  the  introductory 
story.  Stockdale  got  it  printed,  after  making  some 
corrections,  and  putting  in  a  few  powerful  sentences  of 
his  own  ;  and  many  hundreds  of  copies  were  distributed 
by  the  couple  in  the  course  of  their  married  life. 

April  1879. 

NOTE. — The  ending  of  this  story  with  the  marriage  of  Lizzy  and  the  minister 
was  almost  de  rigueur  in  an  English  magazine  at  the  time  of  writing.  But  at  this 
late  date,  thirty  years  aiter,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  give  the  ending  that  would 

1  See  the  Preface  to  this  volume. 
286 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER 

have  been  preferred  by  the  writer  to  the  convention  used  above.  Moreover  it 
corresponds  more  closely  with  the  true  incidents  of  which  the  tale  is  a  vague  and 
flickering  shadow.  Lizzy  did  not,  in  fact,  marry  the  minister,  but — much  to  her 
credit  in  the  author's  opinion — stuck  to  Jim  the  smuggler,  and  emigrated  with 
him  after  their  marriage,  an  expatrial  step  rather  forced  upon  him  by  his  adven- 
turous antecedents.  They  both  died  in  Wisconsin  between  1850  and  i£6a 
(May  1912.) 


THE    END 


-.jit.  m- 

WTO 


